


Spirit Healer

by OKami_hu



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Anders/Karl Thekla - Freeform, Childbirth, Cuddling & Snuggling, Gen, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kissing, M/M, Spirit Sex, Travel, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 22:15:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 71,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7240606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OKami_hu/pseuds/OKami_hu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lone mage was heading to the fortress <br/>The lovely spirit boy crossed his path. <br/>They agreed to help, both being healers; <br/>together they braved the red templars' wrath. </p>
<p>Then they turned toward the village of Redcliffe <br/>-the healer healing, the spirit learning more - <br/>they saw the birth of the flesh and bone Justice, <br/>and ended up at the Inquisition's door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another co-authored piece, this time with a girl I've last seen or heard of back in November 2015. I don't think she's coming back. I just hope she's not dead.
> 
> Therefore, the story is unfinished, but at least we stopped at a decent point. Also unbeta'd AF, if you see mistakes, for the love of the Maker, comment about them. Otherwise, enjoy.

The Mage-Templar War had, without a doubt, already begun to take its toll on Ferelden. It seemed so recently that the templars had broken away from the Chantry completely, and yet already they were eager to spill the blood of apostates in the very fields that grew their food. Refugees were crowding Redcliffe, the Hinterlands were growing more barren by the day, and through it all there seemed no hope of a swift revolution. It was a pot boiling over, its lid had strained and rattled until someone-- a _certain_ someone -- had finally brought the inevitable blowout to fruition.

Not all of Ferelden was as scarred as her heartland, of course. To the southeast, shielded by mountains, the Brecilian Forest knew little of the current bloodshed, its own hostile terrain offering nothing to those who might seek protection or good ground for fighting. Yet word had passed around recently of templars congregating in the area, moving through nearby towns and villages to what seemed to be a shared destination. The fortress of Therinfal Redoubt, nestled deep into the mountains and woods, had been abandoned for years, yet it appeared there was growing interest among some templars in claiming it. A prison for mages? A new center for templar operations, to rival the White Spire? A flurry of rumors surrounded the peculiar exodus, but few had the resources or inclination to investigate deeper.

As luck would have it, two individuals happened to be en route to do just that and were currently taking a momentary respite in the same tiny village on the outskirts of the forest. It was a modest settlement, kept afloat through agriculture and trade with the few Dalish clans who would venture there. It did have a small tavern with a few extra bedrooms though, enough to make it the odd stop on a weary traveler’s journey to the east. It was nearing midday, the town residents already hours deep in their daily work, and most of the travellers who had rested there were long gone.

A lone boy paced in front of the tavern, hands tugging absently at the threadbare gloves that covered them. He was tall, oddly dressed, conspicuous, but none seemed to notice him; their eyes passed over where he stood as easily as they would a barren field. He muttered words to himself, but not a glance was tossed his way. To the world around him, he might have been invisible-- and perhaps that’s exactly what he was.

He may have paced there forever, wearing down a tiny path in the dirt, had the door to the tavern not opened at that moment. The boy snapped out of his reverie, taking earnest strides towards the man who now moved to exit the business. Pale, long fingers reached out to tug at his shirt, a tentative but firm request for attention. Words fell from the boy’s lips, inaudible and indecipherable, before he seemed to gain enough focus to make a ardent, urgent statement.

“I’m sorry.”

The man’s eyes grew wide in alarm, first instinct being to tear himself from the grip - the boy was unsettling, and there was always danger, Maker knows what could happen --

A heartbeat later, he froze though, his shirt still in the pale hand’s grasp, body locked mid-motion as the realization dawned on him. He could barely hold the mighty presence of another inside, the power swirling, writhing, howling with emotion. Other times, he would have winced at the foreign but familiar voice booming in his mind but the shock was too great, he didn’t even flinch at the pain.

_Spirit, spirit, spirit, like me, how, HOW?_

The brown eyes blazing with a blue flame in their depths didn’t narrow; the thin lips trembled as the man seized the boy’s upper arm with a death grip and took a step back. He shot a frantic look around and immediately proceeded to drag the youngster with, into a shady alley. There he threw him against the wall and trapped him there with both hands on the crumbling bricks.

His distress was apparent by how his entire body quaked from tension and when he spoke up, his voice was strained, as if he had to fight to use it.

“How?” he rasped. “How did you do that? I-- we know what you are. Tell us!” He leaned a little closer, despair rolling off him in waves, tears forming in his brown-blue eyes, words hissing through clenched teeth. “Tell us, please!”

The lanky boy didn't quite react to the sudden assault, allowing himself to be dragged away and even thrown against the cool stone wall without so much as flinching. Now, though, his fidgeting renewed under the hard gaze of the other man, bright eyes wide under messy blonde bangs.

“I see it-- bright, blinding, a light inside from another place. Familiar. ‘ _Spirit, spirit, spirit, like me’_. But-- different. Two hearts to one voice, or… or sometimes one heart to two voices. We, I, we. You can’t always hear. I’m sorry.”

His head dipped down as he inhaled sharply, breathless from his cascade of words but apparently still not finished.

“I can see the hurt. You did, too. And Justice saw injustice and in Justice you saw hope. But anger makes Vengeance, and there was just too much. Anger, and sadness, and guilt. It’s hard for a spirit, too much, too many directions. And-- hard for a person, too. You have many feelings. I… I feel them, tangled and tight. I’m Cole. I want to help.”

The man blinked, the blue light in his eyes snuffing out with alarmed hurry, the spirit recoiling, pulling back under unseen layers to hide, to think it over. His vessel was left alone, confused and helpless. His hands left the wall, he stood up straighter, awkwardly pulling his arms around himself. He looked so lost.

“I’m-- sorry for manhandling you,” he apologized, escaped strands of blond hair swaying with the motion. “I didn’t want to hurt you I just--” He pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead. “You have to understand! You are the answer to our prayers, a spirit in material form!” He froze for a moment, suspicion creeping in. “How do you even know so much about us…? I can see how you know that Justice is in me, but--” Finally, resignation. The man heaved a deep sigh.

“I think I need a drink. Suppose I can part from a coin or two and Therinfal will wait. Join me.” He smoothed his hair back and scratched his chin adorned with a short, thin and sort of unkempt beard. “Since we’re getting to know each other… You’ve sort of met Justice. I’m Anders.”

***

The pub was dark and deserted at this hour, a single regular snoring in one corner, already drunk. The barkeep was dozing on the counter, too, only waking and throwing an annoyed glance at Anders when he entered and made his order. Once the glass was filled, he was ignored again. Which suited him just fine.

He led Cole to a shadowed corner and they settled down, Anders taking a sip, shuddering as the cheap alcohol burned its way down his throat. It helped though. He needed all the help he could get.

“This is rather awkward,” he admitted. “I’ve never though I’ll sit at a table with another spirit. And here I go, just returning from my self-imposed exile and this happens. How did you find me? How do you want to help? Maker knows I could use that.”

Cole scuffed his feet against the floor as he sat, tapping out some rhythmless tune while his body rocked gently in the chair. For a moment longer he was quiet, his oversized hat shadowing his eyes in the dim light of the tavern, but soon enough he made an attempt at answering Ander’s questions. Or… saying something, at least.

“So much pain here, twisting like a knife in a wound. The war is far away but there are wars from long ago, pushing through the thin places, spirits with memories in the forests and the mountains. The land is hurting, and the people are hurting, but they don’t know why. Or… sometimes they do.”

He looked up, heading snapping towards the bartender, as if a sudden noise had caught his attention even in the quiet.

“Bitter like bits of hops in the beer, a bile that can’t be swallowed. His daughter left long ago, but he worries for her now. So much bloodshed, so much--”

With a fluid motion Cole was up, long legs quickly covering the distance between him and the barkeep. The man blinked in surprise, as if he had only just noticed the boy.

“She left the Circle before it fell. A kind man took her to Antiva. _She’s safe_.”

Then just as swiftly he returned to the table with Anders, the barkeep blinking a few more times before shaking his head, returning it firmly to the counter. Cole let out a short breath, his head dipping back down again.

“I… see the hurt. Feel it, or… hear it. I can help, sometimes. Whispered words or little trinkets, lost but found again. They won’t remember me, but they remember what I did. They hurt less. I helped. But…” He glanced up at Anders, head tilted. “You won’t forget me. Justice knows me, so you know me, so you won’t forget me. It’s… strange. You hurt, and... I want to help, but it’s hard... so bright all around, different but the same… I-I don’t know what to do. I’ve never healed a spirit before, or-- someone who had a spirit inside. But I’ll try.”

Even under the shadow of his hat, his gaze was earnest, searching, as if he might find the answer on the face of his companion.

“I came to follow the templars. They hear old songs and they want to sing them too, but… here, there’s a different song. Dark and dangerous and dreadful. They hear it, and they come, and they go to Therinfal. It’s… red, sick, blood under festering skin. I don’t like it, but I followed their hurt, and it led to yours. You don’t like templars, Anders.” It didn’t sound like a question, but his look was expectant. He’d apparently rattled off all he could manage for the moment, however convoluted.

Anders stared then took a sip again and rubbed his face. “Alright. Alright. This is a mouthful to deal with. So-- you can _read minds_ …? That’s-- amazing, and incredibly unsettling.” He tried to focus on the words that been said.

“You heal people, help them… Justice knows you’re no threat. The templars-- Red Lyrium?” Anders twitched. “Justice can understand you I think. He’s trying to push his thoughts on me without surfacing. Therinfal has Red Lyrium… That’s no good, it’ll destroy them but not before they lay waste to a few Circles and I cannot let that happen!” He chewed on his lower lip. A fortress of templars, riddled with Red Lyrium… that was a force to reckon with. He knew he won’t be able to do much, but maybe if he can just gain some allies…

Anders buried his face into his hands. Who was he kidding? One lone apostate against a small templar army, sure it sounded good! He should have stayed in the wilderness alone, with the stars above for company, and a wronged spirit inside, struggling to share words with him. He was the very thing people feared about mages, how did he have any right to participate in this battle? Still, it was his doing; he alone started this mess, and after three years of isolation, he couldn’t stand it any longer. He needed to help others, somehow.

“If you can see what’s in my mind, you already know that me _not liking_ templars is an understatement,” Anders muttered into his hands. Maker, trying to talk to this boy was difficult, but still… oddly comforting. Maybe it was just the talking itself. He hadn’t done much of that as of late.

“I see it,” Cole murmured. “Cold armor and colder eyes, hands too tight on mine. ‘ _I just want to go home!_ ’ But home is gone, distant like the shore from the prison on the lake. ...There are many bad templars. Not all, but enough. They see monsters in every mage, blood magic, the color of the city in the sky. You wanted to stop them. You wanted to _help_.” He grew restless again, leaning over the table to stare earnestly at Anders as if his words would be stronger if they were closer. “It’s not _your fault_ the mages and templars are fighting. You hold the whole war on your shoulders but if it wasn’t you, it would have been someone else. You saw the pot boiling and opened the lid before it broke.”

Cole slid back gradually, his message delivered. His hands found the fraying threads of his gloves again, his gaunt and pale face bizarrely placid for his sudden conviction. “But you want to help. That’s good. Maybe we can help people together.”

Anders blinked. At the first part, his eyes frosted over with horror, those ages-old memories assaulting him again as Cole recited _his own words_ to him, but then came the consolation and- Maker, somehow the kid was able to put his warring soul at ease just by telling him that he wasn’t as guilty as he made himself believe. He could feel Justice thrumming somewhere deep, pulses of comfort emanating from his being, as if he was trying to say something like ‘I told you.’ Anders swallowed hard.

“I do want to help. Maker sees my soul, I want this to play out with as little mage blood spilled as possible. I’m quite sure Therinfal’s a lot worse than I thought and I still have no idea who you are and what you are aside of a spirit of the Fade… but let’s go together. I don’t know why, but I trust you.” He bit his lower lip and hesitated.

“Can you hear what Justice is thinking? Sometimes things slip through but we can’t talk and… that’s the worse.” How different it was when Justice still resided in Kristoff’s body…! They sat together and talked for hours on end, discussing politics, mages, life… It was an odd friendship, but friendship nonetheless, and Anders honestly thought that offering his body will work out well. But it didn’t, and the only thing that kept him from ending his own life was that he couldn’t be sure it wouldn’t end Justice as well.

Cole seemed to ponder this for a moment, then nodded, the brim of his hat flopping with the movement. “I can-- try. You are bright-- and also dark-- and sometimes the songs are too loud, or sometimes you are one voice, together. But…”

His brow creased in concentration, mouth agape before he took a deep breath and tried to explain to the man what he heard. Felt? Saw?

“Words and feelings and-- more, tied and tangled. Love-- so strong in this world, so _real_ it hurts and he hurts for your hurt. He never wanted this-- he would change it if he could. He would take away the pain but it slips through like broken glass in shaking hands, too real, too late. Cold and curdled, regret, a pit in the stomach but... also more than that. Bright to bursting, a fire inside-- pride, so proud-- _so proud_ that you never gave up. _You are strong, Anders, stronger than you think._ ”

Anders stared. He couldn’t do anything but sit there, stare at the kid with the unsettling eyes who just told him everything he ever wanted to hear. It took him a while to realize that tears were rolling down his face and he swallowed thickly. “Is that-- really what he thinks…?” His hand crept to his chest, curling into a fist in his worn shirt. “He’s-- proud of me despite everything I’ve--”

“ _Yes._ ”

For a maddening, perfect moment, Anders could feel arms wrapping around his shoulders, firm and loving, with a weight to them that felt too real and he heard that deep voice echoing with power.

“ _Yes._ ”

The next moment, it was gone, leaving Anders shaken and breathless. Was that-- Did they-- “Cole… have you seen or heard or sensed that, too? I think- I think for a moment Justice and I could communicate.”

Cole had perked up at the exchange, and for the first time since their meeting his face was alight with a small smile, his voice joyous.

“Yes! It’s… you are one, but two, but not always. The sun, or-- the moon, or the sky when it’s light or dark. They are lonely and they know the other but they are so far away. Then it glimmers-- gloaming, going, and twilight tugs them near. Orange and violet and and all that lies between. They no longer know the difference. They can see each other then. They can know each other.”

His hand tapped excitedly at the table as he sorted his thoughts aloud. “It’s the same. Or-- similar. Sometimes it’s you, Anders, or sometimes it’s Justice. Or something in-between. But you have to find the _most_ in-between, the place where the sun and the moon know themselves but also know each other. It’s hard, but-- but it’s good. When you understand, it’s good. I… I think I can help.”

He said it as if it were the most holy of callings.

“A balance,” Anders breathed. “An equilibrium. A middle ground… I think we’ve known it all along, but we couldn’t tell the other. A point where we give up ourselves for the sake of the other…” He smoothed his hair back and smiled at Cole, the first time in years.

“As cryptic you are, my boy, you offer just as much clarity. Now I feel- refreshed, like I could do anything.” His expression turned more solemn and he pulled himself up straighter, prouder. “Let us go to Therinfal together, we were both heading there anyway. On the way, we can talk, and we’ll see what can be done about this templar mess.“ He knocked back the last of his drink and stood, offering a hand to Cole.

“Come, my young friend! An excellent adventure awaits!”

“An adventure,” the boy repeated in wonder, fingers tentatively gripping the offered hand as if they might slip through it. He broke into another smile when they didn’t, and with new energy he stood to join the mage.

“Happy and hopeful, head held high. Uncertain but unshackled-- to Therinfal, together. I'd like that."


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn’t the fastest journey ever-- the terrain was rough and they had to be wary of templars. On the plus side, they didn’t have much to carry. Anders’ purse wasn’t weighing him down for sure. The last few coins jingling in it were barely enough to feed him on the way back to civilization.

The mage fell into thoughtful silence. He was still lightheaded from all the sudden discoveries and revelations. They were more than he’d ever had to handle, save maybe his Harrowing-- another sudden revelation.

Justice’s presence was a distant hum somewhere inside, but it was a reassuring rhythm pounding alongside his heartbeat. He drew strength from it. He’d been sure that the spirit had nothing but resentment for him. The realization otherwise brought the desired middle ground a step closer.

Anders glanced to the side, leaning on Freedom’s Call for purchase on the uneven ground. The staff stayed with him for many years - the company was rather new though. Cole was a true enigma with his unsettling looks but oddly enough, a second glance at him revealed that he was harmless and sort of cute. While his blue eyes were intense, giving off the impression that they could see right through everything - as was truly the case -, they were also wide and innocent, a curious child’s eyes.

Anders had a million questions - how he came to be, what he was the spirit of, what did he mean by healing exactly - though he found it a little hard to ask them. He wasn’t even sure if he was alright with his mind being on display for another. After all, who would’ve liked to know his secrets laid bare, every mistake and misstep, not to mention the embarrassing or rather private details…?

Cole had been rather quiet up to that point himself, his gaze aimed downward as they moved further from the tiny village. Traversing the difficult terrain seemed to be quite the feat of concentration; he stumbled now and again, his footing perpetually uncertain. He had yet to fall, at least.

“You have a lot of questions, Anders. In your head,” he finally spoke up, eyes still on his own feet. “I can try to answer them.”

The boy paused to overcome a particularly inconvenient rock in front of him, continuing once he emerged victorious.

“I didn’t know what I was, for a long time. Flitting, faded, forgotten in the Spire. I thought I was a ghost, but-- but then I learned more. I know I’m a spirit now. Or… a demon. But-- but I want it to be _spirit_.” His tone was bordering desperate in its emphasis on that word, as if he feared Anders may judge him otherwise. “They called me… kindness, mercy-- Compassion. But you can call me Cole. I think… I have to remember that name. So I want to use it.”

“The White Spire…?” Anders had to stop for a moment. “Well, you certainly didn’t start low…!” He shook his head. “That place is-- basically a center to everything. There are so many legends and rumors surrounding it. Were you- trapped there, somehow? Or the Veil was weaker at a point and you could just slip through…? From my exp- well, not experience, but I do know a spirit quite intimately, and they do not do well in the mortal world. Then again--” He wracked his brain for everything he ever learned of spirits.

“Compassion sounds like something that would have a purpose in our world. And it’s also a force sorely needed among mages. They don’t get that a lot. I’d imagine they get none in the Circle where the head of the templars reside.”

“Yes. No-- yes?” The boy’s pace slowed until he stopped completely, expression troubled. “It’s… hard to remember, from before. I forgot a lot when I came here, but if I try I can-- it was thin there, yes, so easy to hear, so easy to slip through if you wished, wanted. I heard....”

His whole body shuddered, his face contorting as if in pain. “A-a boy. A mage in a dark room, door locked, key lost. Knot in the stomach, burning, gnawing, eating itself-- hands bloody from pounding the walls, throat dry from screaming, help, _help_ \-- someone-- _anyone_ \--”

He wrapped his arms around himself, gripping tight like he was guarding from some impending chill. “The-- the templars forgot him. _Everyone_ forgot him, but I heard him, I-- I pushed through, I wanted to help. I touched him, and he felt me, but I couldn’t… I-I wasn’t _real_ enough to…”

The boy took a deep, shaky breath, a momentary silence.

“I couldn’t help. I held his hand and he… died. He only wanted a better life, and I couldn’t help, but I _wanted_ to help-- I’d… never wanted before. It changed me, and-- so I-- became him. The him that wouldn’t hurt, that wouldn’t be hunted. His name was Cole.”

It was the first time the boy had seemed so upset, trembling in his own tight grip. He drew another long breath and tried to relax, hands loosening a bit on his roughspun shirt.

Anders crossed over to hold him.. “It’s alright,” he soothed. “That’s over now. I’m sorry you had to recall that.”

So there was a young mage in the White Spire, the sword piercing the sky, and he died. Of neglect, of hunger, locked up in the cellar and forgotten. Anders remembered well that one year spent in darkness when he could have lost his mind if not for that blasted cat-- He took a shuddering breath to keep the anger down. Justice strained against the boundaries but not as fierce as before-- hopefully that was a good sign. A few years ago, he’d have taken over by now.

“No matter what, I don’t think you would have been able to help him,” Anders offered as consolation. “Starvation is something you can’t heal-- there’s not enough to heal. But you stood with him so he didn’t die alone… And for a lot of people, that’s a comfort. I see now what you mean by helping. You were incredibly brave, little spirit.” He caressed the boy’s face.

“You took his face and his name so he’ll live on, in a sense. That alone proves that you’re not a demon. Demons don’t care. But you do.” Anders smiled, his thumb brushing against a pale cheek. “You’re incredible, Cole. You’re something special, something wonderful… and quite inspirational, too. You’re doing that boy justice.” He chuckled. “For what it’s worth, you have a lot of approval… from both of us.”

The boy, initially tense in the arms of the other man, had quickly fallen nearly limp against him. His head bumped against Anders’ lightly; it was a small wonder that damned hat hadn’t taken an eye out. He hesitantly brushed the hand on his face, and exhaled in what might have been contentment.

“Gentle,” Cole murmured, then laughed softly. “You want to help me-- it should be the other way around. But… thank you. For saying those things. And-- thinking them.”

He pulled back a little, wide eyes searching for something unknowable on the other man’s face.

“I’m _more_ here, more real. The name holds me, keeps me kept. It’s hard, sometimes, but I can help here. You can help, too-- gentle, kind. And Justice… strong, striking, but he still seeks to soothe. It’s warm-- like your arms around me. I like it.”

It might have sounded like a terrible pick-up line, had it not been said with a tone of utmost sincerity.

Anders still blushed a little. “Good people help each other. We’re both healers, it’s in our nature. You… have a bit of trouble holding yourself together, right? It’s not your-- normal state, to have a physical form and you’re just settling into it, learning how to deal. You need an anchor to this world to stay here.” He began to walk, this time keeping closer to Cole.

“Forgive my rambling, I just have to run your words through my own filters… I’m trying to figure out if maybe we could do the same for Justice. In case he’d like to stay. One would think he have had enough of the mortals by now--” Some bitterness crept in and Justice’s humming quieted, drawing away a little. Anders wasn’t sure why.

Cole kept pace with Anders as they resumed walking, listening in silence until Anders’ comment drew a small sound of protest from the boy.

“No-- you’re doing it wrong. That’s not what he feels! In his voice, you blame yourself-- but they’re not his words, they’re yours. Guilt hangs heavy like chains on your shoulders, it pulls you down-- the night runs from the day at dawn instead of meeting it. It pulls him down, too.”

His head lifted to scan the approaching treeline, eyes darting between tangled branches as he continued.

“You _have_ to be in-between, the _most_ in-between. You did it earlier, but now you pull away again. _Love yourself like he loves you_. If you do that, then maybe--”

Suddenly he stopped, his speech trailing off into a low hiss through clenched teeth. One hand reached out to grab the mage’s arm, and the other… from somewhere in his baggy outfit, he drew out a dagger, the blade flashing in the sun as he gripped it tight. His eyes were locked on the trees, where dull shapes moved about in the shadows.

“Templars,” he hissed, voice low and dark and uncharacteristically venomous. “Watching, guarding, bored-- looking for a fight. They will not talk.”

“Oh sh--fffor crying out loud…!” Anders couldn’t help the urge to censor himself as one does in the presence of a bright little boy, who’d be a little too quick on the uptake. He glanced around, as he was in no mood to fight, and searched for suitable cover. To their advantage, the rough terrain offered a lot of variation in height and landmarks. He spotted a tall rock that was halfway obscured from where they stood. It seemed to be situated on lower ground, and hopefully they’d be able to remain unseen there. If the templars had lyrium - and they usually did - it’d take a bit of effort to take them down, and Anders wasn’t sure Cole even knew how to handle that blade.

“There!” he pointed out. “We can hide there until they pass. You said guarding? Are we that close to their hideout-?”

Cole was silent for a moment, staring intently ahead, before finally pulling his gaze over to where Anders pointed. He seemed almost hesitant-- but then he bounded towards the rock, Anders in tow. When the two crouched down, hidden in the shade of the great stone, he let go of the mage’s arm… and withdrew _another_ dagger with his free hand. Where did he even keep them?

“They won’t see me,” he explained as he stood to survey the area. “Two together, they watch the road, waiting. Past the trees is the path to the red place. It’s only for templars-- they’re supposed to keep everyone else away. But no one has come for days, and they are wistful, wanting. They miss the killing.”

His tone was dark and without mercy, surprising for one who had so recently been called Compassion.

“You don’t want to fight, Anders. But they won’t see me, I could-- they would hurt more people. I should stop them.”

“You’re scaring me,” Anders breathed and he placed a hand on Cole’s hip. “I understand your anger but remember _what anger does to us, little brother._ ” The transition was so smooth, his voice never hitched as Justice eased himself forward. “ _Anders is scared; he is not sure of himself. If the patrol has been out for a while, they might not miss them a few days longer. I’ll trust your judgement. We cannot allow more injustice to happen and if we have to do it one templar at a time, so be it. Red lyrium or not, we can take them._ ”

Cole breathed out at Justice's words, his resolve apparently strengthened in the presence of the other spirit.

"Yes." He gripped the blades in his hands tighter. "We will not allow it."

With that he was off, taking swift and wide steps towards the treeline. The templars could see the pair coming from the sparse terrain beyond the trees, and they quickly emerged to meet them, heavy armor glittering in the sun as they moved out of the shade.

"You there! A little far from civilization, aren't you, mage?" One of them called out to Justice, a smirk on his face. "You out here to summon demons where no one can find you? I'm afraid you and your friend are--"

Just as his gaze turned to Cole, the boy had broken into a run, and then-- in a blink he was gone, the templar jumping in surprise and drawing his sword as his companion did the same.

"Get the mage! I'll find thAUGH--"

The boy popped up at his side and completely buried the blade into seam of the man's armor. He withdrew it just as swiftly.

“ _Why summon demons?_ ” Justice asked almost kindly, raising the staff. “ _There’s something much better._ ” The otherworldly quality of his voice strengthened as he called magic to his aid, and the lightning he released caught the templar in the middle of his chest. He wasn’t quite prepared, probably didn’t think the intruders to be a real danger. He was knocked back by the impact though not dead; but he was stunned, limbs twitching from the shock.

Justice finished the job with a nonchalant wave that sent a white blast at the fallen enemy, leaving a misty trail and coating the armor in frost. Then he turned his sight on the injured one, to see if there was further danger.

The other templar’s full attention was on Cole, lashing out at the boy with his blade, but the wound in his side had slowed and staggered him. The two wound around in circles around each other, the boy dodging blows but withholding his own, bloodied dagger held ready to strike again. And then, finally, an opening-- the templar went low and Cole lept back, plunging the blade deep into the man’s neck as he stumbled forward. He fell with a strangled gasp and Cole retrieved his weapon, shuddering as if shaking off a heavy feeling.

“They won’t hurt anyone ever again,” he said, voice calm despite the carnage. He turned to Justice then, eyes thoughtful beneath his messy bangs.

“Firm and fervent, a force to be felt. Justice in a just death. You are very bright like this.”

“ _Bright? I’d think so._ ” Justice smiled. “ _I’m glad I can finally talk to you, little brother. You are quite the warrior… I was not expecting that, and I’m pleasantly surprised.”_ He bowed his head in respect. _“I also appreciate your kind help. Anders needs that. He is unsure. He still blames himself._ ” He looked up at the sky and let out a rather humanlike sigh.

“ _We spirits live in an ever-changing world, but remain static. The humans are the opposite, and when a spirit changes, it becomes more human. I have had the chance to change during the past years… and I find myself hoping that I’d be able to do the same as you did. Pass into the mortal world, to inhabit a body of my own._ ” He stepped closer, ignoring the corpses and the blood dripping from Cole’s blades. “I _’m still not sure how you did that. I’ve been residing in this body for so long, and it’s… a miracle._ ” He held up his hand, looking at it with something akin to awe on his face.

“ _I have curled around the beating heart, rested in the lungs, lurked in muscle and walked the bridges of the brain… It’s so complex, so perfect! Could I be able to reproduce this?_ ”

“Yes--! I... think.” The boy furrowed his brow in concentration, staring at Justice as if trying to solve a puzzle. “When you came here… you were pushed, pulled, ripped without reason. _‘The witch sundered the Veil in her haste! All of us were drawn through!’_ It was too much-- it is for anyone. So you used a form already there.”

Cole looked down at his own hands in contemplation. “I _wanted_ to push through. I _wanted_ to become Cole, the Cole he wanted to be-- so I did. If you want it enough, I think… but Anders has to want it, too. He chose to let you in, and you chose to enter, and you understood and he understood. But it changed you, and changed him, and now it’s harder to understand. But… you know that already.”

“ _Yes._ ” Justice simply nodded. “ _We had no idea what will happen… We couldn't have an idea. He needs to understand that he’s not at fault. Neither of us is. His anger was there but I could have resisted that. The Taint, however… It got to me. Who knew it could distort a spirit? It warped me and it took too long to get rid of it, scrape it off. I’m free from it now but I have done many things wrong while under its influence. I disregarded Anders’ will. It’s not a wonder he grew to fear me._ ” He walked up to Cole and took the boy’s hand into his own.

“ _Help him, little brother. Tell him he needn’t fear; I have changed. I’ve watched him and saw how lonely he was. He lost everything or never got what he yearned for. I wish to stand with him, to ease his suffering. Once I thought an attachment would distract him. Now I see that loneliness does that._ ” He paused, burning blue eyes unreadable. “ _I think… I have fallen in love with him. It is a frightening concept… but there is comfort in it, too._ ”

“Love,” Cole murmured. “You heard the dark songs and they darkened you, thick smoke around a spluttering flame, almost snuffed, almost lost… but his light cut through, kept you in comfort-- love is a light and a light is a beacon and he _never gave up_ , so you didn’t either. His song was stronger, and you sang it, and it sent the smoke away.”

His hand, limp in Justice’s grasp, tightened with resolve as the boy looked up to meet the other spirit’s gaze.

“I _will_ help. He is scared, scarred, but he wants to believe. Guilt and doubt… but also hope, now. … I am happy that you love Anders, Justice. It can heal you both.”

The spirit smiled again. “ _You are a very good influence, little brother. I admit, it’s an attractive thought having you as our aide while leading the war… but it’s just a thought. You will choose your own path. I’ll give Anders back to you now, and I hope we’ll be able to talk a lot more._ ”

The blue light dissipated like morning mist, leaving Anders in charge, blinking. “I did not black out this time,” he announced, a little surprised, a little relieved. “I couldn’t hear him but I remember the battle. That’s probably a good sign.” He glanced at the corpses and smirked. “I forgot how satisfying it was to hurt them. The next time, I’m not going to hesitate, red lyrium or not.” Belatedly, he let go of Cole.

“Let us continue. We should stay off the main road, but I don’t think there are more patrols on this route. templars tend to get a little too sure of their superiority, I doubt they’re expecting visitors.”

“The templars are far away now,” Cole agreed, tucking his daggers back into whatever pocket or strap they had rested in before. “But... the forest is not happy for so many people to be here, under the trees. There was a lot of fighting, a long time ago, and it remembers. People bring blood, and war, and pain, and the place between worlds is thin and threadbare. We should be very careful.”

By his tone it was clear the area made him uneasy, the tall and gnarled trees before them bearing down like the walls of a fortress, but after a moment’s hesitation-- and a quick glance towards Anders, as if for assurance-- he steeled himself and marched forward.

Anders was quick to follow. “I have only known you for a few hours, but I’m starting to suspect that you see a little too much.” Looking around, he had to agree though; the place was not quite welcoming.

“There was only one person I was able to trust this readily… I think I have no problems with you because you’re a spirit. You also remind me of someone, sort of.” He grinned. “You can see who I’m thinking of, right?”

A small smile lit across Cole’s face as he maneuvered through the roots and undergrowth that twisted and tripped under the shade of the branches above.

“Wide eyes full of wonder, walking the streets in the lowest town as if they were just another forest path. She seems so small and fragile, the last leaf on a tree in fall-- but inside she is a burning fire, deep like the blood-writ poem on her face. She would do anything to remember, _anything_. She had Audacity, but in the end it only ate her away. Merrill was glad to fight next to you, Anders, even after the Chantry fell.”

“Blood magic was never something I would support, and she managed to get on my nerves quite a few times…” Anders rolled his eyes, “but you do remind me of her. Seemingly frail, harmless, innocent-- but Maker, can you both pack a punch.” He fell silent for a while.

“It was easier to just see the crimson on her hands and the shadows behind her than to admit how strong she really was. Is. Maybe. I have no idea where the others could be. Except for Fenris. I’m quite sure where he is right now.”

“With Hawke,” the boy stated, a hand reaching out to steady himself against a tree as they made their way further and further into the dark forest. The trees were high and old, and as they left the outer perimeter behind them the beams of sunlight that cut through to the shady floor were growing smaller and fewer. A twig snapped in the distance and Cole paused to listen, but the light skittering that followed seemed to belong to some small animal.

“You have… a lot of feelings. Knotted and gnarled like roots in the ground-- it’s hard to hear them all. Do you wish you could have gone with them?”

“It’s difficult.” Anders stared at the ground, pretending even to himself that he was just watching his step. “I-- would have gone with Hawke. With him? Right into the Void. But he didn’t want me.” He shook his head firmly. “I mean, they way I wanted him. He was the best friend I could have hoped for, supportive, accepting… After all, I’m still here. He let me go. He fought for the mages and allowed me to be there. It says something about him that Fenris stood by his side all through that. Hawke… really had a way with people. But he belongs to Fenris; why should I have followed them? Wherever they are, I’m sure they’re happy. I wouldn’t want to spoil that.” Hawke deserved to be happy after all he’s gone through. Anders was never fond of Fenris, but it was hard not to notice how deeply he cared for the Champion. He was all Hawke had left, as some semblance of family.

“I needed to get away, anyway,” Anders sighed. “Those three years far from anything helped. I had nothing better to do but come to terms with- the past. All those bad decisions and the ignorance and especially the hatred. There was a lot of that. It took a while to let go.” He glanced up and frowned. He had some pretty thoughts and the world refused to align with them.

“Away from everything, I could breathe, you know? As if there had been something on my chest and it suddenly rolled off. I looked at the starts and- they say, the Maker watches us through them, a million of bright, unblinking eyes. I was looking up and wondered, why haven’t He struck me with a lightning already, I did _everything_ wrong! After a while I started to hope that maybe, if I work hard enough, I can redeem myself. In His eyes, if not anyone else’s.” He stopped for a moment to press a hand against his face with a disbelieving look. “I can’t believe I’m saying these things. If he could stop for a moment before stuffing me with arrows, Sebastian would be so proud.”

“Some of the stars are gone now, but we can’t see it yet,” Cole stated cryptically, as if it had anything to do with the conversation. “I understand. Dust in your eyes from crumbled bricks in the Chantry courtyard. Bitter hatred like bile that you can’t swallow down. But you left, and the dust settled, and you could finally see the stars in the sky like the clear night after a storm.” He paused, frowning; something was still bothering him, and he eventually managed to put the words to it.

“Why… couldn’t you and Fenris _both_ love him? Wouldn’t that be better?” The boy seemed legitimately confused.

“We both loved him…” Anders shrugged, tilting his head to the side as he looked at Cole. “Fenris was able to set aside his hatred for mages for Hawke’s sake. And I loved Hawke so much it hurt. I-- I was _this_ close to throw myself at his feet and beg but… a man should have his pride.” He laughed a little. It still haven’t stopped hurting but it was a dull ache now instead of a knife through the heart.

“It’s just, Hawke loved us in different ways. Love has many faces, Cole. He loved me as a friend, a fellow mage, he loved Merrill like a little sister and Aveline like an older sister… I never quite figured Isabela out… But he loved Fenris with all his heart. I’d say, he found a part of him in the elf.” He turned the question around in his mind again.

“But if you’re asking why the three of us couldn’t end up together… The rift between me and Fenris was too great. I think…. Hawke might have been able to convince us to try, but the tension would’ve been too much. Three people falling in love with each other and getting along is rare. It takes an open mind, sacrifices, a great deal of trust. It doesn’t happen often. I don’t even know anybody who was in that sort of relationship. But they say that it happens and I’m inclined to believe. It is also a beautiful concept.“

Cole was quiet for a moment, contemplative.

“Love has many faces,” he repeated, as if mulling over the idea as he spoke it. “And-- sometimes there needs to be more. Like... trust. You have love and it hurts you still, but it makes you happy too-- it’s tangled, tied together in your chest. Bittersweet like herbs and honey. Justice feels the same-- similar-- in his love. I want to understand, but it’s... hard.”

His brow creased. “Compassion and love feel so close to each other. Warm, soft-- a fire in the winter chill, a hand that holds yours as you walk. But they’re… different, aren’t they, Anders? You have compassion for many people… but it’s only Hawke you want to see without his clothes on.”

Boom! Anders’ face and probably the rest if his body took on a spectacular shade of crimson in a matter of a second, and he almost fell flat on his face.

“I-- you-- It’s not--!” He planted his staff down. “Alright.” He took a deep breath. “Alright. I’m not apologizing for something I did not commit. I do that often enough. Maker--” He took another breath, kept it in then exhaled.

“Don’t do that to me often, I’m an old man, my heart might stop. That was a little out of the blue. Also I’m… mildly sorry you had to see that?” He was a little worried for the boy. He definitely didn’t want to scare him with his overeager imagination.

He shook his head and resumed walking. “That is another aspect of love. Wanting to be physically close to people… What can I say, I enjoy that, too. You were kind of close to the full truth however… Compassion is a part of love. I wanted Hawke physically, yes--” He briefly debated how much he should share, and why he was even sharing it. “He… he looked like comfort personified. Large, solid, warm, secure. But I also wanted his compassion. Love is… that’s it, like a shattered mirror, you see?” He perked up, excited to have found an analogy.

“There are shards. They are all mirror shards, but they’re a different shape. Compassion, trust, desire, understanding, acceptance, friendship. You can put them together, and they will fit, and you get a mirror. You can leave a few out, and you can still arrange them into a mirror, though it’ll be smaller or a little crooked; but a mirror nonetheless. But, when you put all the shards together, they will align, and you’ll have the full mirror back. And then, the cracks will disappear. That’s true love.”

“I’m not saying I wouldn’t want to see Hawke naked,” he added. “But I know I can’t get that. The image will be there only until-- if-- someone else comes along, who can put the shards together and show me that mirror so I could see myself in it.” That was quite poetic. Varric would have loved it. But it was also oddly true.

Cole had been quiet through the man’s explanation-- and judging by his unchanging expression, unaware of or unphased by the reaction his remark had caused. He nodded, though, when Anders finished, looking up into the maze of branches above them thoughtfully.

“Shards shattered, shining and shimmering. Look in it right and you see a part of you; hold it wrong and it cuts you, crimsons your hands and your heart. But who broke the mirror?”

It was apparently a question to himself, as he continued on without much pause.

“Love is one, but also many, and the many are all one too. I-- didn’t know that things were connected like that. But… I think I understand it better now. Thank you.”

There was such gratitude in those last two words that he couldn’t contain it all, laughing softly even as he spoke them.

“I think it’s hard, for a spirit. What it feels is what it _is_ \-- feeling too much frays it, fragments it. Change too much, and it no longer exists. Justice becomes Vengeance… Compassion becomes Despair. I… didn’t want to change. I _don’t_ want to change, not into something different. But-- but now I know it might not be like that.”

He turned to face Anders. “Justice changed too much. But then… he changed back. But not to the same Justice, a _new_ Justice, a… Justice that could feel _more_ , that could _understand_. He feels many things-- he feels guilt, and pride, and _love_ \-- but he is still Justice. He is bright like the Fade but also more than that, now. If he could do that-- if he could become more real, more human-- could I?”

“You’re walking next to me on your own feet and you want to be more human?” Anders chuckled. “But I get it-- Spirits are kind of black and white, right? They don’t realize that there are shades to things… Like Justice, really. That part of him always made me uneasy. He was rigorous. Things for him were either just or unjust with no in-between, and justice isn’t quite like that…. as proven by the accident of the Kirkwall Chantry.” He looked into the distance thoughtfully.

“Justice and Vengeance aren’t opposites. It’s a shift to an ideal to a more aggressive force. I couldn't see that coming, it was too sudden… I think being in a human body with its own thoughts, wants and needs was immensely confusing for him. But I can feel the change now. He became softer, warmer and it feels… reassuring. But, back on topic--” There was so much going on in his mind, it wasn’t hard to lose focus. So much mindwork and conversation, the little riddles were stimulating, exhilarating and Anders enjoyed it a lot.

“I think what you seek isn’t as much as change but knowledge. You need to recognize the shades between things, realize what they mean. You need to build yourself up a little more. Compassion and Despair are the two ends of the spectrum, and I honestly don’t think you could become a demon… For that, you should stop being compassionate and comforting. Well, I suppose if you denied compassion from people, that could lead to consequences… But sometimes, the biggest kindness there is is death.” Some people were beyond help, too tainted, too far gone for reason… Or trapped in an existence that wasn’t life, because it was void of everything that made life worth living.

"Yes," Cole agreed, "Sometimes people need to die. They hurt too much, or they would hurt others."

Despite his agreement, Cole seemed troubled, his face pulling into a small frown. When he spoke up again, there was a quiet sadness in his voice.

"When I was in the Spire... I had a friend. My only friend-- Rhys. He was the only one who could see me, for a long time. He thought I was a boy-- and then a ghost-- but when he found out the truth..."

He breathed out, head tilted down as he slowed his walk.

"I lost my friend when I learned what I was. Learning things is dangerous-- you gain something, but you lose something else. And if you lose too much, and gain too much... you're no longer you. What if I lost you next?"

“Then you will carry on,” Anders said quietly. “That’s what humans do. Change, learn, adapt. What you described… it’s called growing up. It is never easy, and it might hurt, a lot, but that’s how we evolve-- through experience.”

Cole was quiet again, working through ideas that did not seem to come naturally to him. Then-- another little laugh.

“You’re strong, Anders. You can feel despair without becoming it-- you hurt, and sometimes it’s heavy, harrowing, but you still stand. I’m-- worried, whirled and wound inside. I want to heal the hurt, and if I change too much-- if I become what bruises, batters--”

He grew serious suddenly, stopping to look fiercely at Anders again.

“If I change, and it hurts you, hurts others-- if I become a demon-- will you cut me down? Will you stop me?”

Anders swallowed to get the lump out of his throat. He stepped closer, brushed the hat off Cole’s head and closed the boy into his arms.

“If we’ll be there to witness that,” he said, Justice’s voice mingling with his own, blue light seeping from under his lowered eyelids, “we will not allow you to hurt anybody. We will mourn and we will shed tears but we’ll keep you in our memories.”

Cole had frozen when Anders approached, but when the man’s arms wrapped around him he relaxed, exhaling as if he’d been holding his breath.

“You’ll stop me,” he said, as if to be sure, “And-- _and_ you’ll remember me. You both will. _Thank you._ ”

Hesitantly at first, uncertain but quickly growing confident with the energy of earnest gratitude, his own lanky arms lifted to encircle Anders, holding so tight the boy might well have been trying to push his feelings straight through one chest to the other.

“It’s okay for people to forget me, but-- it’s… nice to be remembered. I’m glad you’ll stop me. And I’m glad you won’t forget me.”

“I’d rather if you didn’t try, though,” Anders mentioned, placing the hat back on the boy’s head. He could _feel_ Justice nod firmly in agreement. “You’re a lovely little thing, and I’ve already had to kill a friend… it’s not an experience I’m keen on repeating. I’d say, the more human you become, more tied to this plane, the easier people will remember you. Now you’re much like a dream.”

“Karl,” the boy said softly, speaking into Anders’s shoulder where his head rested. “Robes like a curtain of comfort, hiding, shielding. And underneath was warmth, wistful wishing for better things-- so far away, so easy to forget the rest of the Circle in his arms, in his body-- and then it was cold, taken by the templars and left in tatters. He was happy to die, in the end. But I’m sorry you lost him.”

Cole’s grip tightened around Anders as if to reassure him. “I will try not to become a demon, Anders. If I have to become more… real, more _here_ to stop it, then-- I will.”

“I’m afraid, I cannot say for certain if that will shield you against temptation,” Anders murmured, a little shaken by the memories of his friend-lover Cole’s words pulled forth. “But the road lies ahead and by walking, we learn.” He kissed the boy’s cheek on impulse. “Let’s go. And let’s not try to focus on the bad things… I could play the guessing game with you all day. Maybe it’ll give you a little practice with putting those pesky images to words.” He smiled and pulled away but no farther than a step, to both remain close and leave enough room. “Therinfal’s still a good way from here.”

***

They spent the remainder of daylight with that, walking stubbornly while talking about little things, good memories. Anders felt lighter; Cole was an adorable companion, and by now, Justice’s presence was a steady hum inside him with an occasional thought slipping through. It seemed that there was still hope for them, and it grew with each smile, every bit of laughter.

It was impossible to tell when the sun finally set; the forest grew dark quickly, making further travel without light impossible.

“Lighting a torch or a fire could betray us,” Anders remarked, a little annoyed. “We should find shelter for the night and rest.”

Cole stopped to consider this, his head unmoving but still searching; after a moment, he turned to gaze off to the left, a pointing finger soon to follow.

“The mountains have many holes. A bear lived in one, once, but then the hunters came for her cubs, and she went for the hunters, and she never came back. The cave remembers, even though there’s no one to live there anymore. We’re close. I can show you.”

The boy took hold of Anders’s hand, tugging him in the direction of the apparent shelter. The forest rustled and creaked in the darkness, many of its inhabitants just beginning to wake up. The foreboding atmosphere was only amplified by the restless sounds, and the only source of light was the little spots of moonlight that filtered through the thick branches above. Cole seemed tense, his grip tightening on his companion’s hand as they gingerly picked a path through the undergrowth.

The cave emerged in their view as they drew closer, the gray and jagged stones that littered the mountain’s bottommost point reflecting more of the moon’s light than the inky-black forest floor. The cave’s entrance was impossible to see into, and the young saplings that littered its entrance would be a nuisance to wade through, but Cole relaxed as they finally exited the treeline and entered into the sparsely-forested buffer between mountain and woods.

“There are mice, inside, but they won’t hurt us. It should be safe here.” He glanced back at the forest just behind them, staring for a moment before finally releasing Anders from his grasp. “I tried to hide us, but-- Justice makes you bright. It’s hard. I don’t think anything that saw us wants to eat us, though.”

Well, that was reassuring.

“Bright?” Anders was puzzled. “I suppose he’s bright for anything that has your senses but to others... “ Well, maybe animals could sense spirits. “Anyway. It seems deep enough, so let’s invade and perhaps just make a small fire… with little smoke. I’d like to see where am I going to lay down.”

Truth be told, he was tired. He was used to long walks, but the emotional hurricane and the unfriendly terrain both contributed to his fatigue.

Once the fire was lit, barely more than a single flame flickering over two handfuls of kindle, Anders unstrapped his weatherworn bedroll. He wasn’t getting any younger, and even the thin mattress was a small comfort as opposed to the harsh floor. He also pulled forth a meager dinner, just a few bites, to keep his stomach from grumbling. Then, a few things occurred to him.

“Cole-- Do you eat? Or sleep? Somehow this never came up and I’m quite sure Justice is eager to hear. “ He was; Anders could feel the spirit rise, stretch out and listening attentively. The mage settled down and took a few calming breaths, relaxing himself, to allow his companion more room. He was delighted to hear the deep voice in his mind. “ _You’re doing so well. I enjoy every moment we get to spend like this._ ”

“Flatterer,” Anders blushed, but he couldn’t help the smile. He loved it, too; it was almost like back then, wearing Warden armor and sitting by the fire with the late Kristoff.

Cole had been idly rearranging the chips and pebbles of rock on the cave floor, but he smiled at the addition of Justice's company, looking up when he answered.

"I don't eat. Or sleep. I've-- tried to eat, but--" He made a face like he'd just sampled something terrible. "Food... stays, sticks inside. I don’t like it. And sleep is just being, but with my eyes closed. I don’t think it’s the same as your sleep."

He leaned forward with a curious glint in his eyes, as if trying to look at and through Anders at the same time. And, well, maybe he was.

“Do you sleep, Justice, when Anders sleeps?”

“Justice never sleeps!” Anders claimed with much belief and his laughter was lighter when he felt something akin to a chuckle echo in him.

“ _No, I do not sleep_ ,” Justice confirmed. “ _I keep watch, looking out for trouble. I also watched over Anders’ dreams-- there were an awful lot of nightmares to ward off. A few times, I have to admit, I tried to take control of the body-_ ”

“Justice!” Anders was oddly mortified by the thought.

“ _I never wandered out of the clinic,”_ the spirit assured him. _“I just walked, trying to get to used to your frame. I borrowed your senses, to smell things, or taste them-- no, I was not putting your tongue into everything, just bits of bread, a scrap of meat… elfroot once._ ”

“Well that explains it,” Anders pouted, but without any real anger behind it. He was glad the spirit took this cautious initiative-- part of the deal was to let him explore and learn, but with people thinking him to be a demon… it didn’t happen often.

“ _It could happen, little brother,_ ” Justice continued, “ _that you’ll find yourself in need of rest and sustenance, if you get more human, more real. The body needs both, and though yours seem different, more of the substance of the Fade than flesh and bone, I wouldn’t be surprised if it happened. When you affect the world, the world affects you._ ”

Cole wrinkled his nose and gave a childish “blegh” at the idea, none too enthusiastic for that little bit of humanity.

“I _want_ to be more real, but the realness ties me, tethers me down. The old songs start to fade and it’s no longer enough-- it scares me, so I flit away, unfettered, away from the real. But maybe-- I have to endure. And it will make me more, and I’ll learn to eat or sleep or… there’s a lot to remember, isn’t there?” A soft laugh as he realized. “Do you ever forget to do them all, Anders?”

“The human body works rather well on its own,” Anders smiled. “It remembers without a conscious thought. And it will remind you if you need to do something, like eat, sleep and-- other things.” He could imagine that the concept of the digestive process could seem terrifying to someone who never had to bother with it.

“Then again, you do have more or less control over your own body, so you can stave off eating or pull an all-nighter… But you can’t go on forever.. And there are these nasty, nasty things called illnesses! The flu and the cold and a spoiled stomach! I’m not sure you’d like to try that…!”

“ _Don’t antagonize the little one, Anders,_ ” Justice chided.

Cole’s eyes grew wide despite Justice’s efforts at damage control.

“I-- I’ve felt them, in other people-- a snake inside the stomach, writhing and biting, head heavy with heat but the skin is cold-- but if _I_ was ill…”

He leaned forward, a hand resting on Anders’s in silent beseechment.

“If I was ill, I-I wouldn’t be able to help people! But-- you know a lot about sickness, don’t you, Anders? You can make plants into potions, and save the sick with spells. If I was ill…”

“I won’t be able to be by your side all the time, Cole,” Anders caressed the boy’s face. “But if you happen to fall ill on my watch, you’ll be in good hands. I wouldn’t let you suffer.” Maker, he already loved this curious little thing with the impossibly blue eyes and messy hair. Maybe because he wasn’t human. Or maybe because he reminded him of someone he once knew… Or never got to know. The mere thought of parting from him made a dull ache flare up, but Anders fought it off -- Cole had to choose his own path, and Anders had no intention to influence him. Help with advice, maybe, if the boy asked for it, but no matter how appealing it sounded to have a spirit walk with him in human skin, a proof that spirits and Justice weren’t monsters, Anders was adamant about not dragging Cole along his own path, unless Cole himself offered it.

“I’m making wild guesses of course, but I don’t think you’d ever be susceptible to illness,” Anders mused. “You are made of Fade matter, I think your system will simply ignore the possibility. Ill people can use a little compassion most of the time though, so you can easily find yourself in their near. I can teach you a few things you can do to help them, aside of what you usually do.”

Cole’s stark eyes had been searching the man’s face-- and perhaps his thoughts-- but Anders’s offer brightened his face.

“Yes… I’d like that. Learn more to become more-- and learn more to help more. Even if I change, I can still help, and heal…” He sighed, calmer than before. “You’re gentle, Anders. And Justice, too-- both talking, teaching, trying. Helping. I should be helping _you,_ but-- but you help me instead. It’s strange. But… maybe it’s not bad. I think-- I might like to change, to learn, if it’s with you.”

“I’m willing to teach you anything I know,” Anders replied warmly. “And never worry about not helping me. You are helping. Just by being here.” He finally bit into the bread and made a face. “Well, this is horrible.”

“ _Don’t forget to drink, either,_ ” Justice mentioned. “ _You haven’t had a drop of water all day._ ”

Anders rolled his eyes. “Here I am, a healer being chastised for not being healthy.” He took his canteen though and drank. It helped to wash down the dry bread, too.

“ _Little brother?_ ” Justice’s voice had an odd tone to it that sounded like faint smugness. “ _Anders likes to sleep next to somebody._ ”

“Will you stop outing me?” Anders flailed a little. “This isn’t fair…!”

“Oh!” A thing he could help with? Sign this boy up! It took only seconds for Cole to scramble over the dusty ground to Anders’s side, shoulder pressed to shoulder, his oversized hat now covering _both_ their heads.

“It’s alright, Anders,” he reassured the other man, as if his fluster stemmed from the prospect of sleeping alone and not from the very situation he was being put in. “I can still listen lying down, no one will get to us. I’m ready to sleep together when you are!”

He just sounded so damn _excited_ about it.

“Thank you, Justice,” Anders said flatly, flushing even more at the wording. The eagerness was adorable though and well… He _did_ love to sleep close to someone.

He took a few more bites, drank, then finally began to settle down, arranging everything almost by muscle memory - staff and backpack within reach, in case there’s a need to escape. He stopped for a moment to examine the small pillow he still stubbornly carried with. The embroidery has faded and the thread was fraying at spots, but it was still going strong after decades, just like its owner. A small comfort, but Anders learned to appreciate the little things.

He laid down, shifting a little, trying to find a comfortable position; there was none. With a sign, Anders pulled his cloak over himself for cover and squinted up at Cole.

“Just if you want to; the ground is cold and hard.”

“It won’t bother me,” Cole insisted, though he seemed to hesitate in laying down. Then-- a tentative hand extended, long fingers brushing at the stray hairs along Anders’s forehead, curling to run across his skin with a careful, slow movement.

“Fingers like a warm wave, back and forth in the dark… you liked it when your mother did this. It helped the sleep come faster,” he murmured, settling against the wall as he caressed the mage’s forehead. “He used to do it too, in the night when all the Circle was asleep. The rest of the world would wash away, and there was safety, and silence…”

It was like some kind of strange lullaby, his quiet musings spoken in rhythm with his thumb against Anders’s skin.

It worked. It still worked and Anders felt himself relax, despite the miserable bed and the cold and Therinfal’s looming threat. His hand rested on Cole’s elbow, just for the sake of the touch and as he drifted off into a deep, calm slumber, maybe by some benevolent trick of a half-conscious mind, he could feel a tender kiss upon his lips.


	3. Chapter 3

At some point in the night, Cole had indeed joined Anders on the cold stone floor, the tiny tinder fire burning out into ashes next to them. With both Justice and Cole awake and aware, the cave was as safe as it could have been, but luckily for the two spirits there was no need to rise to its defense; neither animal nor human found the little alcove during the night. As the time passed, the moonlit blues and greys beyond the cave mouth slowly grew more and more vibrant, indigos and violets and eventually reds and yellows as the sun rose to claim its place in the sky above. The creatures of the night returned to their hiding places to rest the day away. In their wake, the birds began to sing, their chirping and chattering already at a constant din by the time the sun crowned over the horizon.

Cole had risen with them, careful to untangle the arm he’d held all night from his own before setting out from the cave on some kind of mission. By the time he returned, it was morning proper, the trees of the forest looking less foreboding in the golden light now shed upon them. When he entered the cave again, it was with a little pile of red berries held precariously against his chest with both hands. He offered a small smile to Anders as the other man woke, kneeling down cautiously and trying hard not to drop his gathered gift. A couple tumbled from the pile despite his best efforts.

“They made tarts with them in the kitchens at the Spire,” he explained. “The rabbits like them too.”

“What a sight to wake up to...” Anders murmured fondly, covering a yawn. “A handsome boy bringing breakfast to bed. Am I still in the Fade, because it seems too good to be true.”

“ _Anders, you’re embarrassing yourself,_ ” Justice stated in a tone that sounded like a world-weary sigh. The mage snickered.

“I’m sorry; when I’m in a good mood, the old habits seep back.” He reached up, seizing Cole’s hat and holding it against the boy’s chest. “Just pour the berries in, it’ll be easier. And thank you, I really appreciate it.” He gradually became aware of how well-rested he felt. His sleep was deeper than in a long while, mostly void of dreams, only a few stray fragments of the past surfaced and only pleasant ones. Perhaps it was Justice, perhaps Cole, or maybe both. Now all he needed was a clean bed with a thick enough mattress.

Cole blinked in surprise as his hat was snatched away, but soon he went along with Anders’s plan, dropping the handful of berries into its worn leather dome. He sat down next to the mage, his fingers soon busying themselves fooling with the leather straps on his pant legs.

“You’re not in the Fade, Anders, you’re in the mountains,” Cole reassured the man, just in case there had been any doubt. Then, after a short pause, he glanced up at Anders curiously.

“Am I really handsome, Anders?”

“As far as I’m concerned, yes.” Anders sat up, stretched and slowly doubled over in pain, whining a little at the ache in his back. He definitely wasn’t getting any younger. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he assured the boy before he could panic. “It’ll pass.”

He rolled his shoulders then turned, crossing his legs and taking the hat that currently operated as a bowl. The berries indeed tasted nice and Anders thought he recognized them from an earlier point of his life. The memories did not accompany with any pain, so it probably meant ingesting them won’t give him a difficult time later.

“People have different preferences,” he returned to the original question. “To some, you might not seem pleasing, I suppose some would be wary of your looks… But I’m also sure a great deal of people would think you handsome. You could use a little grooming, but those innocent blue eyes are bound to eventually capture a few hearts. It’s up to you what to do with them.”

Cole contemplated this idea as Anders ate, finding one of the fallen berries and turning it around in his hands carefully while he thought.

“Capture-- catch, cage, collar and keep. I don’t know if I want that,” he said finally, brow creased in concern under his straw-like bangs. “I-- don’t know what I’d do with a heart. It should be easier to help, to heal, but-- there’s a feeling underneath. Doubt, dread, dwelling in the depths. If I hurt a heart, it hurts deeper. What would you do, if you captured someone’s heart?”

Anders laughed. “It’s a shade you haven’t caught yet I think. If you ‘capture one’s heart’, it means that they grow attracted, attached to you. Like, you definitely captured my heart within an hour. A girl might look at you and think ‘he seems gentle, he might treat me right’. An old lady could think ‘he seems thin, I’d gladly make him a meal’. It’s up to you if you take up on those offers. I’d warn you about not hurting anyone, but I’m fairly sure you’d sooner go back to the Fade than causing pain.” He popped more berries into his mouth.

“If I-- Hmm, if someone came at me offering their love, I’d definitely consider it…” He looked down, rolling one berry between his fingers, much like Cole. “Love never stayed with me, never really gave me that much. I’d like to love someone freely and deeply, like in the tales… I guess it sounds silly coming from a grown man, but secretly, I’ve always longed for something like that.”

“I don’t think your love is silly,” Cole said quietly, tilting his gaze up to Anders once more. “You care about many people, even after they’re gone. You don’t forget, even when it hurts you. I want to help you be happy-- Justice does, too.”

His eyes met Anders’s, staring deeply, perhaps looking for the other spirit in them.

“You captured his heart. And-- and if I captured yours…” He pondered this for a brief moment, then came to a conclusion. “Then we have to all not hurt each other.”

It took a moment or two for the sovereign to drop, but when it did, Anders blushed. Justice’s hum was suddenly gone, and he wasn’t sure if the spirit retracted into the recesses of his mind, or he pushed the spirit there.

“Justice-- Justice loves me.” It wasn’t really a question; Cole mentioned it a few times, Anders just didn’t pay attention, never believing it could happen. “I… need to think that over. Maker…” It felt the same like that time, when a wild-haired girl at Kinloch Hold brushed up against him after class and told him he was handsome. Anders was never shy, but that revelation made him feel giddy and a little lost, unsure what to do.

“I was not expecting this. At all. Looks like I’m in for a few other wild rides.” He glanced at the boy. “Life’s never dull around you, now is it? You don’t have to worry though, I have no intention of hurting you.” He shook the last three berries out of the hat and returned it to its proper place. “We should get going.”

Cole nodded. “Yes. To Therinfal.”

They followed along the mountain as much as possible, the little strip of land between the two geographies proving sparse enough to step easy while offering plenty of larger outcroppings to hide behind. Conversation was simple, the trip was largely uneventful and overall it was shaping up to be a pleasant trip.

Until, that is, they began to draw nearer and nearer to Therinfal Redoubt. Justice heard the songs first, and Cole soon after-- though perhaps what they heard was slightly different. Regardless, it was then that the duo-- trio-- made their way again into the thick cover of the forest, falling silent as they crept along the treeline and watched as the mountain gradually gave way to a large, rocky outpost. It was on this perilous shelf that the fortress rested, a cold and imposing feat of architecture that towered high above the mage and his companion. It was clear by its design that it was meant to withstand a siege, and by the weather-worn but otherwise sturdy bricks that held it together, it seemed no one had even bothered to try. Templar banners hung from the ramparts, thick fabric waving lazily in the wind. It was difficult to see any activity within the fortress from where Cole and Anders stood, but there was no doubt that the building was inhabited.

“There,” Cole spoke quietly, extended a finger as if it needed to be pointed out. “Can you hear it? It’s ill, sick inside, and the Templars are too. Red and rusted and rotten.”

He shuddered, then turned to Anders pensively. “They won’t see me, but they’ll see you. How will you get in?”

“You’re asking the good questions…” Anders could hear it, too. It chilled him to the core, even though it was barely audible, something ghosting at the edges of his consciousness. He remembered this, with more clarity than he liked-- _the blood of the Hawke, the darkspawn, the Deep Roads coming, claiming, demanding_ \-- but this time, there was no urgency to it, no howling need, no overwhelming necessity, not like before. Justice was silent, but Anders could feel his tension; and an odd warmth, a calmness, like being wrapped up in a thick blanket. Most possibly, the spirit was protecting him against the Call, and Anders was honestly thankful for that.

“I could get myself captured, but I’m afraid, they wouldn’t wait until I could properly introduce myself. We can look around for some sort of entrance… But if you can get in, possibly you can make way for me as well? I hate to say that, but you make an excellent assassin.”

Cole was silent, staring up again at the fortress, perhaps trying to get a read of the situation behind the walls. His hands balled tight, body tensing as something seemed to hit the boy.

“There’s a demon,” he said, his voice dark. “It wait and wants, more and more but never enough. It wants to be more, feel more, and it steals the face of another to do it-- Envy, bitter and jealous, biding its time until it can climb again, steal again. It does the work of another, but not a demon-- not a human either. I-- don’t know what.”

His face grew troubled. “The demon has the poison, grows it, feeds it. Some of the Templars know, and it’s too late to save them, but others-- others are scared, shivering, uncertain but unable to leave. They just wanted to help, but they grow sicker every day and they don’t know why. The songs are getting too loud. If we stop the demon… we can stop it. We can help them.”

The boy took a deep breath and released it slowly, his hands unclenching and reaching into his clothes to once again withdraw the pair of daggers hidden there.

“The demon is deep, but I think I can find a path. If I kill the guards, they won’t see you, and we can go together. Will you follow me, but… behind?”

“A demon. Just what I needed on a dull day.” Anders gulped, but he could feel a surge at the same time, coming from Justice, encouraging, filling him with confidence. He has killed demons before; it was time to try again. He nodded to Cole and parted from his backpack and cloak. If they succeed, they can come back for them. If not, he won’t need them anyway.

“Just lead the way. I’ll follow. If I managed to sneak out of Kinloch, sneaking in wouldn’t be a problem, either.”

Their ascent was slow, cautious, and tense. The stronghold had been built well; there seemed only one way in and one way out, though the winding path upwards was mercifully devoid of patrolling guardsmen. Whatever the goal was here, it seemed to be in its early stages. Even the ramparts looked to be barren of archers or watchers. It may have been the only reason they were able to make it so far without incident.

Even with his claims of relative invisibility, Cole kept to the shadows; perhaps it aided his abilities, or perhaps it was some holdover human instinct from the real Cole. Regardless, he crept along the cold stone walls silently and slowly with Anders, until finally they reached a secondary enrance, only large enough to let a single rider through. Cole motioned for Anders to remain, then slinked through the currently open gate. When he stepped out onto the courtyard, disappearing from Anders’s view, there were no sudden shouts or suspicious noises; it would seem the boy’s abilities held true, or that at least the entrance was not heavily guarded. It did not take long for the first sound of strangled surprise, cut off too soon by a sudden thud on the ground, to make its way down to the waiting mage-- nor the second. Cole was nothing if not efficient.

While the boy was away, Anders reached into his pocket and drew a pebble forth. He turned it around in his fingers, marveling at the harsh lines that decorated it, then carefully nudged it into a little crevice on the wall, near the bottom. There were a few more at his disposal, and he hoped to plant them at a few key structures. Unfortunately, they weren’t going to be as efficient as last time, but they were going to still present a nasty surprise.

The boy’s oversize hat appeared again, and he beckoned Anders forward. When the mage arrived in the clearing, bricks beneath their feet overgrown with grass and two bodies slumped over either side of the portcullis, Cole ducked to the far side of the court and extended a finger towards the iron-barred door on the watchtower closest to them.

“The guard had the key. I have it now,” he said, voice low as he extended the battered metal key to Anders. “It goes up to the high parts, and the high parts go all around. It will be safer than the ground.”

“You’re right. They aren’t guarding the fortress… They trust their numbers and the power at their disposal. No force that actually matters would come without properly announcing themselves beforehand.” Anders rolled his eyes.

“It’d be great if we could get to the inner parts, but I know I can’t be picky.” He pulled three pebbles forth. “You on the other hand, could get into anywhere… Do you think you’ll be able to place these by some… load bearing structures…? Central pillars, gates, archways… things that if, let’s say, suddenly go missing, would weaken the fortress or make coming and going difficult?”

Cole took the pebbles into his palm hesitantly, eying the little carved stones as if they might alight in any moment. He nodded, though, folding his fingers over them carefully. “I will.”

They pressed forward, the key indeed working on the door to the spiraling staircase up into the battlements. The ramparts that lined the building seemed uninhabited enough, but from the higher vantage point, the duo had a clearer view of the inside courtyard of the fortress, where the activity was much more apparent. Templars in and out of armor milled around the area, unpacking supplies and crates of lyrium; they were obviously setting up for many more to join them. A captain of some sort was barking orders to other members of the Order.

The walls of the ramparts were not tall, and the pair of infiltrators had to keep low to avoid peeking over the edge. Cole’s hat probably was peeking over, but whatever knack he had for avoiding the sight of others was enough to keep the pair seemingly unnoticed for the moment.

He stopped when they were about halfway across the side wall, inching towards the back, and turned back to Anders.

“I can find the shaky places and put these in,” he whispered, motioning with the hand that held the pebbles. “I can go deep, but-- I don’t want you to get hurt.”

He seemed far more concerned than usual, his unease in the fortress apparent even in his lowered voice. “I’d-- feel better if you were hiding, hidden from hunters. Will you wait for a while?”

”I will,” Anders promised, touching Cole’s face. The boy was worried, and Justice was still silent, it didn’t bode them any good. Aside just templars and lyrium, the aforementioned demon’s threat was looming above them as well. Anders’s heart clenched at the thought of Cole encountering it; but he reassured himself. The boy was bright and seemed to know his own boundaries well; he won’t be foolish. “Be very careful. I couldn’t bear losing you.” Anders meant it.

Once the boy ran off, Anders turned his attention to the templars below. He still had one pebble, and if he could just place it in the middle of the supplies… preferably the lyrium! Now that’d make for a flashy show. He was also curious about the plans. Even if he couldn’t do anything here-- aside ruffle some feathers -- he would have liked to depart with some information. Anything about this scheme could have prove useful in the future. The lyrium crates seemed abundant. So much power… and it’ll be used against mages, no doubt. With their magic rebuffed, smothered by those armored killing machines, they’d be cut down like wheat underneath a scythe.

He had to try. Cole will probably be able to find him even if he strayed; he just had to keep hidden. Anders had a bit of practice with that; any mage had, if they grew up in a Circle. Smiling to himself, he began to inch back on the path they took here, keeping his ears open, trying to listen to what was said. He was adamant about picking up a few morsels.

As he advanced, he heard heavy footsteps approaching below and stopped for a moment to see who was entering. The sight chilled him to the core. It was an armored templar, yes, but be seemed to be… ill, to say at the very least. His helmet currently off, the spectator was able to see the red light glowing in his eyes and the red crackle pattern over his skin. Anders had to swallow. He guessed, he looked much the same with Justice in charge, merely in another color. It wasn’t that hard to see why people constantly took them for an abomination.

The templar walked to the middle, examining the preparations. The captain marched up to him and saluted firmly. “Everything is going according to schedule, Commander. The latest shipment is here, ready to be used.”

“Have the northeast patrol returned yet?”

“No ser. Should I dispatch a scout to call them back?”

“Do that; I want everyone here once the Elder One returns. Soon it will be time to make our move.”

“Yes, ser,” the captain saluted again, then moved away to find a scout for the mission.

The other Templars were mixed in their reaction to the twisted commander, though few dared stare for long. The newest arrivals to the stronghold were obvious in their discomfort, chancing worried glances at red-eyed man, perhaps gazing for the first time at their future. The commander continued his patrol of the grounds, passing under Anders as he stopped to examine the pots of lyrium being cut free from their crates by a nervous-looking younger Templar.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” the commander suddenly spoke up with a low chuckle, making the poor girl jump and scramble to salute. “It’s not the lyrium you’re accustomed to. Feel how it warms the air around it.”

He passed his hand over the massive clay pot as one might over a campfire.

“Y-yes ser. It’s quite warm, ser.”

“It is stronger, too, more than you can now imagine.” A smile stretched across his cracked face. “You will know soon enough. You’re a part of something so big, so… incredible. The General will remember us, here, those who came and served him first.”

The girl didn’t look like she especially wanted to be remembered by the General, but she nodded meekly in response. There was a clatter, suddenly, and a shout as the lid off a lyrium pot on the other end of the courtyard was knocked off by the mortified worker trying to cut it loose from its bindings, the now-open pot emitting the same sickly red glow that the man had in his eyes. With a frustrated sigh, he beckoned the girl forward.

“Come, _you_ seem to know what you’re doing. There’s no room for foolishness here, no asinine mistakes! This is a delicate operation and if...” He was still ranting as he stormed off to reprimand the other Templar, the girl following behind with her shoulders slumped in defeat.

Anders, up at his hiding spot, could feel it as well. There was heat emanating from the crates, but it wasn’t what made the mage shiver as if wrecked by a fever. It was the song. He could hear it, and it was a dreadful melody, one too familiar. It brought up memories: the bitter, coppery taste of blood on his tongue, cold sweat on his back as he stared wide-eyed into the darkness, panting and telling himself it was only a nightmare… His head about to split, whispers echoing inside his skull like an explosion, the sensation of falling, pushed back by Vengeance; the last thing he saw was Hawke’s golden eyes growing wide in alarm.

It was the Call, it had to be; during his brief time with the Wardens, they described it to him. The lyrium sang, and the taint in his blood responded to it. Anders felt nauseous for a minute before he realized that it wasn’t actually claiming him this time; the allure was subdued. He could still think clearly. He wasn’t sure how that was possible - there was so much of that angry red glow - but he wasn’t going to question his luck, at least not right now.

How could a substance like this be connected to the taint? The logical answer was that lyrium could be corrupted by it, but that was nonsense; lyrium wasn’t alive. Anders filed the question away for pondering on it later; right now, he wanted to get out. The pebbles will respond to his command from a distance. Going back to the courtyard of the gate seemed like an option; Cole would most possibly exit the same way as well.

He kept low and silent as he made his way down over the stairs. The templars were located at the farther end of the inner courtyard, bent over supply crates. The lyrium was left alone. Anders watched intently for a few moments, then launched forth, making a dash for the crates. They were piled high enough to cover him if he crouched, and he wasted no time slipping the runed pebble inside the first open crate he could reach. Hopefully it’ll remain undetected for a while… He peeked out from his hiding spot, waited until every back was turned and a quick glance assured him that no-one was coming, then he ran back to the stairs, flattening himself against the cold stone, releasing the breath he didn’t realize holding. He felt lightheaded, energized-- if everything went right, this mission was going to be a success. Now he just had to settle by the gate and wait for the young spirit to pop up.

The short walk there was easy, the templars were so sure of themselves that they didn’t have many guards - maybe due to lack of numbers as of yet. However, as Anders reached the portcullis, his heart suddenly felt like dropping to his feet like stone. Two templars were there-- aside the dead ones. Their infiltration was discovered.

The two Templars stood silently for a moment, staring down at their fallen brethren before they looked up at each other, expressions grim. One of them bolted immediately forward, shouting towards the group of Templars gathered around the lyrium. The other moved as if to follow, but stopped, something catching his attention instead. The door, previously guarded, was now open, and inside-- his eyes locked with Anders. He seemed stunned for a moment-- and then his expression contorted into anger, and he launched forward to grab at the man.

“Here! _He’s in here!_ ” The frantic steps of other Templars could already be heard approaching.

Out of sheer reflex, Anders’s hold tightened on his staff and he sent lightning at the approaching foes. As expected, it bounced off their chestplates like a beam of spring sunlight, though the force of the impact made them stagger for a moment at least. Anders turned around and made a run for it. If there was no way forward, going back was still an option. Maybe if he reached the rampants again, he’d be a little safer up there.

He could feel Justice stirring deep down, swirling with worry. And he just hoped Cole was safe.

The Templar who had lunged for him stumbled when he attacked the others, losing him briefly before again giving chase, followed by those who weren’t staggered by the blast of electricity. Anders certainly had dexterity on his side; the Templar armor was not built for running but for enduring, and it seemed for a moment he would beat them to the ramparts. And then--

The commander slammed into him from the side, moving far faster than his bulky armor should have allowed. The man’s red eyes blazed, a wicked smile on his face as he forced the mage down, hands clamped firmly over Anders’s. His body gave off an unnatural heat, just like that of the lyrium pots.

“Were you going somewhere, mage?” His voice was smug and devoid of mercy, though he shook his head at the Templars who caught up with them, swords drawn. “Not yet. I’d like to hear what our guest has to say for himself.”

“I was just about to see myself out,” Anders replied, knowing it to be futile and still trying. “I’d gladly carry on if you just unhanded me… Why would you worry about one mage--?” He was young again, having seen sixteen summers and caught again trying to escape Kinloch’s hold. Except that this time, it wasn’t the First Enchanter deciding his fate. He’ll be tortured. He’ll be killed. Justice to the people, and a bitter end to his dreams… The fear caught him by the throat and its icy fingers squeezed. What was going to happen to Justice?

‘I was careless. I put others to danger. I failed.’ The thoughts echoed in his mind and he felt like drifting apart from his companion. Maybe it was better that way. Maybe he’ll be able to break free if there wasn’t a connection so strong.

And maybe he’ll get to utter the words and maybe they’ll bring the place down.

The commander chuckled darkly at Anders’s response, yanking him over harshly so that the man was forced to lay on his back, hands still pinned painfully tight.

“One mage can cause an awful lot of problems, left unchecked. But we’ll fix that soon enough. It’s your lucky day.’” The commanded kicked his staff to the side, then barked up at one of the Templars hovering over the pair. “You there! Bring me some red lyrium from the pot. Just a handful should do, I don’t imagine it will be too different.”

He turned back to Anders, sneering down at the captive mage.

“You’ve got a smart mouth, and a lot of nerve using it. I’m sure you’ll have plenty to tell us when you can’t refuse anymore. Ah--” The Templar had returned, his palms cupping a dimly glowing handful of tiny, broken red crystals. “Good. You learned the Rite of Tranquility in your training, yes? We’ve no brand, but if you position the red lyrium right.... it should be no different. The effects, though, might be… a bit more drastic.”

He seemed nearly gleeful at the opportunity, his grin widening as the other Templar nodded, stepping forward. The other Templars watched on with mixed expressions of assurance, doubt, and fear.

Anders’ eyes widened and darkened as his pupils dilated, his fear turning into blood-chilling, numbing terror. His heart was beating so fast, as if trying to escape his chest. He couldn’t breathe. His lips were open but he couldn’t utter a word.

This was it, the fate far worse than death. He should have expected this. Templars, lyrium, a lone mage. This was bound to happen and he should have known it and should have stayed away but he didn’t and now his worst nightmare was coming true. He’ll be reduced to a walking corpse, like poor Karl, unfeeling, empty--

He could hear the words of the Rite being uttered, a deceptively gentle hand brushing against his forehead, a mockery of Cole’s soothing touch-- His eyes filled up with tears then drifted shut.

“Justice, I’m so sorry. Please be safe. Please survive, leave me, don’t let them kill you! I don’t want to go like this-- Justice, please-- I want to know that you’re safe… I love you, I love you so much--”

The heat was blazing, like a sun coming closer and closer-

The commander tilted his head up, as if hearing voices. In the next second, the others heard it, too.

 _“You will not harm him. You will not kill him, you will not, YOU WILL NOT!_ ”

Anders’ skin cracked, a blue fire underneath; and the light grew and thickened until it seemed solid and it formed a pair of arms that grabbed the templar’s neck.

 _“YOU WILL NOT TAKE THIS ONE!!_ ”

The commander was thrown away, the other templar knocked back as a figure manifested itself over Anders’ body, standing at a low crouch, eyes like liquid lyrium, fingers like talons and voice like sure death.

The templars around didn’t have much time to react, because the furious creature was upon them in a heartbeat. Albeit weaponless, and a touch away from being completely solid, it tore its way through armor, flesh and bone, ripping off limbs and crushing throats.

Whatever the Templars could have expected from the restrained mage, it was certainly not _that_. By the time any could reach for their weapons, the strange being was upon them, fighting with a force that seemed far beyond its semi-ethereal form. Like a whirlwind they fell, dead or dying or wounded, the would-be lyrium brand scattering across the ground in tiny, scintillating pieces as the rite was well and fully interrupted.

A cry came from the back of the courtyard, but it was no Templar-- Cole was running desperately toward the pair from the inner stronghold. He looked as if he hadn’t quite had an easy time himself; for the first time since their meeting he was bleeding and battered, with a gash in his side darkening his shirt with blood and a cut across his face, shallow but red. He probably _should_ have been limping, but whether it was human adrenaline or spirit energy, he bounded forward to kneel next to Anders. His wide eyes froze in awe for a moment at the flickering, furious figure above them before he turned his attention back to the man on the ground, hands around the mage’s face as if it might shatter in his grasp.

“Anders, I heard--I felt-- Th-the demon was-- I couldn’t--” He sounded on the verge of tears, his thoughts seemingly too fast and frantic to put into words. “W-w-we need to go-- out. Leave. Through the back-- a door. Into the forest.”

He let go of the man’s face and took his hands, tugging him up earnestly. His gaze snapped back to the other spirit.

“Justice, too-- we have to go. Fast, before-- before there’s more.”

Anders was still mostly out of it. When he couldn’t feel the scorching heat of lyrium anymore, the threat of becoming Tranquil removed, he was immediately assaulted by the whispers and he needed all his willpower to resist. And curiously enough, the fragmented song was different now.

_“You are mine, and you will obey me, come to me, fight for me, for I am a god and your only way to live is to serve me, rise and come, come, you are my servant, bow to me for I am the light.”_

Anders gritted his teeth and tried to focus, to find something he can hold onto. There was a sliver of blue light amidst all the red and he grabbed it hastily. The whispers quieted just a little bit but it was enough.

And then Cole arrived and it suddenly felt easier to breathe, to move. The mage stumbled first but he struggled to his knees and then to his feet, shaking, uncertain, grabbing the boy for support. He looked around and finally realized what was happening.

The remaining templars were retreating, swords held at the ready, shouting for reinforcements. Justice’s ethereal form have slaughtered many, covering the courtyard in crimson gore, without getting stained by it. He was heading toward them swiftly, the outlines of his body starting to blur.

“I can’t hold it together longer,” the spirit rumbled low, looking weary. “This was the best I could manage.”

Anders reached out as if in a dream, trying to touch his companion, and flinching when his fingers met resistance. Justice subtly leaned into the touch, but then pushed forward and he disappeared, vanishing into thin air. His presence lit up inside Anders instead, silencing the Call completely and filling him with a sense of serenity, peace and loving tenderness.

This was not the time for romance though. The templars won’t be held back much longer, and now with a clear head, Anders was painfully aware of that. He nodded to Cole, grabbed his staff still lying nearby, and launched into a mad dash.

Cole led the way through the back of the stronghold, a maze of rooms and hallways that would have certainly slowed them down had the boy not apparently known the way. The inside was littered with bodies as well, presumably from whatever altercation Cole had involved himself in; it was messy, haphazard, and certainly no clean assassination work. It seemed devoid of life at this point, and might well have been had Cole’s constant looks back and around indicated that he thought otherwise. There was no doubt they were being pursued, but for the time being at least, they were ahead.

“Stones,” he said suddenly, glancing back at Anders before pointing at a column in the large room they were about to exit. “There-- and the kitchen-- and the biggest room.”

They moved on quickly, no time to stop; another door left ajar, and they were in a final hallway. The door here was closed-- and worse, locked. Cole threw himself against it but staggered back when it did not yield. He tried again, but if his ragged breathing was any indication, his wound was beginning to catch up with him.

“Anders,” he looked back at the other man, “I-I can’t open it. If I had time I could-- but-- I need help. _Please_. If we both push, then-- maybe--”

“I’m not entirely helpless, my boy.” Anders planted Freedom’s Call on the ground, took a deep breath then firmly pushed his palm toward the lock. The entire metal appliance shot out from the wooden frame from the force of the Primal strike.

“There are times when a delicate approach is needed,” Anders remarked wisely. “This was not one of those times.” He gave Cole a worried look before pushing the door open. “Are you going to make it outside? I’m not leaving you behind!” To make sure their pursuers will be slowed down, he cast a Barrier on the door

Cole blinked in surprise at the… well, far easier solution than he was apparently picturing. He let out a little laugh, moving quickly to follow Anders through the winding, narrow corridor that lay beyond; a secret tunnel of sorts. “I’m alright,” he insisted, leaping forward with a hand on his wounded side. “We can’t stop-- we have to go. Far. Another cave, or-- somewhere. Anywhere.”

It took them a few minutes to reach the well-concealed, wrought iron entrance, beyond which, freedom was waiting. The gate yielded to their combined strength, and they stumbled down the hillside, sometimes perilously close to falling. The trees were relatively sparse on the mountain, but if they managed to flee deep enough, it would become harder and harder to track them. Cole didn’t seem to have much of a plan, simply picking a direction and pushing forward. He looked back at Anders again.

“Should we-- should we go up? Or down?”

“Away!” Anders insisted. “Just far enough. And if we can grab my pack on the way that’d be splendid… I’m terribly attached to my material possessions. If we make it to a three hundred feet distance, that’ll be enough. Hopefully. Standing close last time was insurance enough, but we don’t have the luxury now. But, if it works… they probably won’t pursue us for a while.” He glanced around, trying to determine where they ended up.

“That way-- I think. I’m fairly sure you can find your way easier… And I’ll need to treat your wounds.”

Cole nodded, changing his course to where Anders had pointed.

“I’m alright,” he insisted again, marching down through the rocky mountainside in determination. There were distant shouts from within the walls of the stronghold, but thus far no one had emerged to tail them; it was likely they were just discovering the carnage inside. If nothing else, the pair had slowed them down with damage to their numbers alone.

The way down was perilous, with steep drop-offs and loose ground, and they had to weave their way around obstacles lest one or both fall to their death off some cliff. If they had made one right decision that day, it was taking the stairs up.

The terrain finally started to even out as they approached the foot of the mountain, and Cole pointed to a thicket of trees a few yards away.

“Silk threads, soft like her hands, woven into the pillow like silver strands of tears. It’s there-- no one found it.”

“Thank the Maker!” Anders rushed forward and retrieved his backpack. He shrugged it over his shoulder then looked up. They were probably far enough. It was time to see how his plans played out. He briefly closed his eyes as the memory surfaced, of destruction, death, light and fire, a terrible beginning. But every birth is a painful one.

“There can be no peace.”

The silence thickened for a moment, then an explosion shook Therinfal Redoubt, rattling the ground beneath their feet. It wasn’t anything spectacular, but there was a brief flash of blood red light bursting somewhere in the fortress.

Anders threw his head back and laughed. “Now that will give them something to be occupied with!”

Cole watched at the fortress lit up from inside, rumbling and crackling and little flashes like a thunderstorm that hadn’t yet broken through the clouds. His body shivered involuntarily; no doubt there was a sudden wave of suffering from within, but when he turned back to face Anders his face showed no regret. The spirit was no stranger to necessary death, however grim.

“The Veil is taught, tight and tugged. Even in the other place, they felt the explosion,” he said quietly. “We should leave before it tears.”

“What-?” Anders looked puzzled, but he began to walk. No need to linger longer than necessary. “Sometimes what you say makes no sense whatsoever-- to me at least. Anyway… we’ll be close to the nearest settlement by sundown, it’s still early… We’ll still have to spend a night outside--” His shoulders sagged. “And possibly a lot more. “I don’t have the coins to pay for rooms.” He rubbed his chin. “If you can help though… I can risk offering my services as a healer. Either it’ll earn me a few sovereigns, or a stick to my ribs but-- I guess we can defend ourselves, right?” He smiled at the boy, though it disappeared quickly as something occurred to him.

“What was that bit about a demon earlier, son?”

Cole was quiet for a moment, walking silently beside Anders. When he finally spoke up, his voice was tinged with regret.

“Yes. Envy heard the songs and wanted them for itself. It was in there, I felt it and… I tried to stop it, but it-- he saw me.” His free hand clenched into a fist. “He was a Templar once, but now just a face-- Envy his behind it, whispering words that worked into the hearts of others. Sick like the lyrium but in a different way. I-I wanted to silence it, snuff out the voice, but…”

He gripped his blood-soaked side tighter. “I wasn’t strong enough. He could see me. He’s… still alive, still _hurting_ others, and I couldn’t stop it.”

“An abomination--” Anders gasped. “A Templar, possessed by a demon! This is like Kirkwall all over again, how far do they want to go?!” He shook his head in despair. “This is not good, if they do that a lot-- There will be more blood spilled! The Chantry’s not going to stop them any longer, they can’t. I just hope this red lyrium madness isn’t widespread.” He glance back at the fortress. “I heard the Call when-- Justice left me. But it was different. It was not just darkspawn but something… bigger.” He gently touched Cole’s back. “I know you did your best, my star. There will be foes bigger than you. We might-- try to alert the authorities about this place. They’ll send someone to handle it, to stop the demon. And now you stop, I’m going to heal that wound. I can’t bare looking at you like that.”

“I’m fine,” Cole mumbled, though he obeyed and ceased his walking. He turned to face Anders, his eyes surprisingly intense as he met the other man’s. And then--

His arms wrapped around the mage, pulling him close as he sucked in a pained breath. His grip was tight, desperate, holding on as if to keep him from floating away.

“I-I shouldn’t have gone ahead,” he stammered, his voice wavering with the emotion behind it. “I could hear the song, sickly sweet in its sound, and I thought I went to stop it, but-- but I went because it called. It was so loud inside, so-- _angry_ , and I couldn’t hear until-- until--”

He took another shaky breath. “I heard-- I felt-- _I don’t want to go like this-- Justice, please--_ so much fear, too much, and then anger-- not red, white-hot, burning love as fuel, _YOU WILL NOT TAKE THIS ONE._ ”

His fingers dug into Anders’s back as the words spilled out. “I left you. You were almost lost, almost-- I’m sorry, Anders. _I’m sorry_.”

“Oh darling--” Anders hugged back, caressing Cole’s back. “Don’t apologize. You fought a much bigger foe, and I asked you to get inside… I was stupid, too, leaving the spot. But it’s fine, nothing happened. You left me but I wasn’t alone. You know that I’m not angry, my little star. Justice was with me. Don’t worry… You can’t always watch my back. You were very brave, facing a demon.” He was honestly a little at loss about what to say-- he just wanted to ease the boy’s mind. It didn’t seem _right_ for him to be weighed down by negativity.

The boy breathed in deeply, his tension easing a bit as he exhaled.

“Justice was with you,” he acquiesced, tone gradually evening out. “He protected you, and-- we’re safe now. I’m glad.”

His grip on Anders loosened and he pulled away slightly, looking down at the ground thoughtfully.

“He… came out. A body, almost, shining like the Fade but… also more than the Fade. It reminded me of when I pushed through.” A tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “A body made of love. He would do anything to save you-- anything. And he did. And he would again. I felt-- I felt despair, twisting and turning, a snake inside ready to strike… but when I saw him, it settled, slithered away. Maybe he saved both of us.”

“Maybe.” Anders glanced to the side, smiling too. “I-- This is still new. I’ll need a little time to get used to it… Few have ever been in this situation.” He placed his hand on Cole’s wound and called forth the magic to mend the boy’s torn flesh.

“There we go. I’ll see to the rest later. We still need to get out of the forest. When we get to a safe distance, hopefully I’ll be able to talk to him.”

“ _That’s a good idea,_ ” Justice spoke up, making Anders gasp loudly. “ _I’d like to talk. But not now… Taking physical form drained me.”_ He did sound tired. _“I need to rest, please don’t get into trouble._ ”

Despite all his earlier protests, the healing did seem to help the boy, his whole body relaxing a little without the wound in his side.

“Thank you,” he smiled, then quickly nodded his head in agreement. “Yes. You should rest too, Anders. We’ll find somewhere safe.”

With renewed energy he marched on forward, the lot of them delving again into the thick of the woods to find civilization once more. Therinfal disappeared behind them, the dark happenings there again a silent secret swaddled in the mountains-- for the time being, at least.


	4. Chapter 4

Compared to the flurry of danger they had just endured, the trip away from Therinfal was almost surreal in its lack of people trying to murder them. Or of any danger at all, really. For all the dread that hung in the air in the Brecilian forest, it was also a calm place, and whether it was the two spirits or just dumb luck, the group encountered little of the wildlife beyond scurrying rodents and the occasional fox. Even the Dalish who roamed the area seemed to be in other far corners of the forest.

Elfroot grew in abundance beneath the trees, too deep in for the gatherers of the fringe settlements, and by the time they emerged again from the treeline Anders had amassed a decent collection of the little plants. They were still a ways from civilization, but at least the forest’s edge promised some sort of tavern in their path before long. If he could just find a place willing to take his herbs for coin, they may not have to spend a night on the ground after all.

The sun was sinking below the horizon by the time they finally happened upon a small inn along a dusty road, the only building in sight. The lamps inside were lit, and sure enough, it seemed in business; a couple men sat at the well-worn bar and a woman was sewing by the fireplace, a sleepy little scene that was certainly a comfort after the long day they’d had.

The innkeeper looked dubiously upon Anders as he entered, but after a quick chat-- littered with assurances about his nature, his desire not to trouble them for more than a night, his offer of all the herbs in his pocket for a bed and a small meal-- the middle-aged man relented. Elfroot was apparently in short supply lately, none of his family much prepared to venture deep enough to gather it, and the offer was hardly one he could pass up.

Their room was small, lit dimly by a small cluster of candles on a creaking table, but it had a bed and a pillow and was certainly better than rolling around in the leaves. Cole sat upon an equally rickety stool, feet kicking idly, as Anders worked through the last of the simple but hot stew his exchange had allotted him. With the sun nearly set, only the faintest of purples still alight around the horizon, it seemed so much time had already passed since their close call at Therinfal-- and yet, at the same time, so little.

There were a few spoonfuls left in the bowl, but Anders stopped, leaning back on his chair. “Justice? Would you like to try?”

“ _Thank you for the offer, I’ll take it,_ ” the spirit replied and gently eased himself to the front, Anders’ eyes lighting up in blue. Justice cautiously sipped the stew, still shuddering at the onslaught of flavor he was not used to; but he braved it, dutifully chewing on meat and vegetables until the bowl was empty.

They improved much in such a short time. They didn’t talk about their own feelings, possibly a little afraid still, thinking it to be too fragile to be held by careless hands. But there was no hurt, more like a secret smile, a spark of joy and excitement-- could it really be? Was it really happening?

“I can let you be in charge for a while,” Anders offered easily. “We need to sit down and discuss where to go from here, though. I really wish to help mages, somehow. It’d be nice to find them, too, I need an update on how things are… been a little out of touch as of late. Cole, as our spymaster, do you have any insight?”

Cole looked up, blinking in confusion.

“I don’t _think_ I’m a spymaster,” he said, as if he _could_ be one and just not know it. “The Templars in the mountains were waiting for something. I don’t know what, but… the song had one voice, one master, they heard it as he sang them to his side. They were waiting for him to return, his deed done, but I don’t know what it is he’ll do. But I think it’s something terrible.”

He looked out the window, as if he might find the answer there, but only the stars and dark outline of the mountains were there to greet him.

“If the Templars needed help… maybe the mages do too.” He straightened up suddenly, the spark of an idea lighting up his eyes. “I _can_ spy! If I went down-- they wouldn’t see me. If I asked, I could make them forget. Do you think they would know where the mages are? People talked a lot about the Templars...”

“That’s brilliant. You’re brilliant,” Anders nodded with much belief. “You do that, my star. Chances are, they won’t have as much information, as they would like to forget mages even exist, but even rooting out blood mages will help the cause, and we’re a formidable team. However, if we reach a city, there’s a chance we’ll learn more. Maybe we could even sniff around Kinloch Hold. It’s as a good destination as any, until a better option comes up.”

“ _We should probably send word to the Divine,_ ” Justice mentioned. “ _In Therinfal, we heard the whispers too, albeit there is barely any taint in your blood, Anders. It was very strong, and it did speak of a god. I have no idea either, what that means, but it sounds ominous._ ”

“Wait, what do you mean there’s barely any taint in me, I’m a Warden-- sort of.”

“ _I had to remove it,_ ” Justice explained apprehensively. “ _It got to me, twisted me… Will removing it cause you a problem?_ ”

“N-no… I don’t think so…” Anders was baffled. So there _was_ a cure to the Taint?

“ _I still had to use a lot of my power to keep the song from your mind,_ ” Justice continued. “ _It was incredibly loud, most probably due to the presence of an abundance of red lyrium. I think this was why I wasn’t able to permanently manifest into a fully physical form. A part of me was still in you, trying to protect you._ ”

“You saved my life, at least twice in rapid succession,” Anders murmured. “Without you, I couldn’t have gotten even near Therinfal. The whispers would’ve driven me mad. Or worse, lured me in to side with the Templars.”

“ _But I was there, and I was not about to allow them to hurt you,_ ” Justice stated simply. “ _The desire to protect you was strong, it made easier to call for a solid body. But I couldn’t maintain it._ ”

“It was so bright,” Cole chimed in, eyes full of wonder. “You brought the Fade _here_ , and made something from it-- made it real, bent it into a body without breaking. It’s not easy.”

He stood, looking down at his own hands for a moment, perhaps remembering his own venture into the physical world.

“You silenced the song, too, even after it was inside you. I-- don’t know how. I wish I did.” His voice was tinged with sadness-- how many he could have helped if he could cure the Taint!

“You are very strong, Justice.”

“ _I don’t think you can do it unless you’re inside a human; but thank you, little brother. Don’t forget about your own strength either, though._ ”

“We’re all magnificent creatures,” Anders clarified before the conversation could have gone downhill into a tag of ‘you’re the best, no, you’re the best’. “Our next goal is the nearest city, we’ll be gathering intelligence and head for Kinloch is there’s no better option. I’d like to retreat now for the night one way or the other.”

“Yes,” Cole agreed, though he remained standing. “I-- want to listen, while the people are still downstairs. I can come back to sleep with you, though, Anders. It’s okay.”

He said it as if Anders hadn’t somehow survived the past few years without someone to sleep next to. With that, the boy was off, shutting the door gently behind him as he left. Whether he would actually _learn_ anything or just spend his night helping random strangers overcome their minor problems was a mystery.

“ _So… I’m in charge now?_ ” Justice questioned. Anders chuckled. “Yes, but don’t stay up too late and take care not to damage the package. I’ll be needing it for a while.” First time since they joined, he let himself ease out, falling back into soft darkness. The sense of serenity engulfed him like a blanket and it merely took a few minutes for his consciousness to relax and switch off.

Justice stood and walked a slow circle around the bed, examining the feeling of clothes against his skin. There was one thing though he couldn’t really try before… He began to undress, placing Anders’ clothes neatly on the chair, until he was wearing nothing aside the pants. Justice settled down on the bed, running a hand over the bedding first, then he pulled his legs up to feel the coarse weave of the linen on his soles as well. Finally, he laid back, staring at the ceiling.

He seldom had the chance to touch naked skin, and this was a good opportunity, so the spirit ran a slow hand over his chest, noting spots where touch tickled. The neck seemed to be a good place for touches too, and he lurked beneath the surface a few times when Anders-

The finely boned hand traveled down, between the long thighs, to tease. Justice attempted something like this once, but the job was left unfinished due to the overwhelming onslaught of sensations. He was curious if something changed.

The more sensitive parts of human anatomy still felt weird, but definitely not unpleasant. Justice gently palmed himself, marveling at how the system knew by itself what to do, how to respond. Eventually he slipped a hand underneath the waistline of the pants and made note of all the involuntarily reactions: the twitch, the gasp, the hot lightning racing through nerves. It was still almost too much to bear but he braved it. His fingers started to move, eliciting waves of pleasure, and Justice decided to test his own strength and see how far would go until it threatened to temporarily shut him off, too.

Cole had spent the past few minutes lingering around the dimly-lit downstairs, but it was perhaps not the night to hatch such a plan; most of the small inn’s guests had retired, and the innkeep was not at all pleased with the strange boy’s attempts at conversation-- though, of course, he would not remember them. The only bit he’d managed to pick up was some mentioned of a “conclave” by the stern older woman near the fireplace. It seemed they may have to wait until a larger town for more concrete news.

The boy eventually gave up in his short-lived spymaster mission, trundling back up the stairs to the room. Anders would likely be asleep by now, and Cole would have to find some way to finagle himself into the bed next to him. He opened the door quietly, doing his best not to wake the man, but--

“Justice,” Cole blinked, his eyes darting over Justice’s half-nude form in surprise-- lingering where his hand rested-- before they looked up to meet the other spirit’s flickering eyes. “Your thoughts are-- very fast. Are you alright?”

“ _Y-yes--_ ” the spirit traced a finger over a vein and shuddered from the pleasure. He just about reached his tolerance level, mind slowly getting numbed by the intensity. He knew he’d have to stop soon, but-- it actually felt good. Really good, and Justice had plans for the future, so he pushed on. “ _Don’t worry,_ ” he assured Cole. “ _I’m just curious how the body works. I’m not sure I could have one for my own, but it doesn’t hurt familiarizing myself with one. Anders likes to do this, but it’s… almost too pleasant. Very intense._ ” His back arched at the next wave of pleasure and with much regret, Justice stilled his hand. “ _That’s it, I don’t dare to go further. Although…_ ” He glanced down, examining how the front of the pants tented. “ _It takes a while to fade. It’s something definitely meant to be finished._ ”

“I can see it.” Cole moved to sit next to Justice on the bed, peering down curiously at the tight bulge in the fabric. “In you-- pleasure pushing, too much, too far-- drowning in waves while you wash away from shore. Too strong to bear but still yearning for more.”

He looked up again. “I... didn’t know it felt good, to touch it. Anders likes it?”

“ _Yes, very much._ ” Justice’s lips curled up in a smile. “ _He loves when someone touches him, it makes him feel warm and happy. Sometimes he touches himself like this, but it’s not the same. It seems-- better, if someone else does it._ ” He frowned lightly, remembering Cole’s unique way to go about things. “ _But, it is better to ask him beforehand. He’s been touched a few times before, when he did not like that. And when others can see, touches need to remain friendly, a hand on his shoulder, a quick hug. More meaningful gestures should happen in private._ ”

Cole’s face was creased slightly in confusion, but he nodded along with Justice’s instructions.

“There’s… a lot to remember. But I’ll try. I don’t want to make him unhappy. I promise to ask him before I do something.”

He was quiet, briefly, before another thought crossed his mind. “You wish you could touch him, Justice. Not like this-- with him still there, still feeling. A touch from beyond, from outside.”

Justice sighed and turned to his side, curling up a little, letting the body react by itself, in response of his emotions.

“ _Yes,_ ” he admitted. “ _I still don’t fully understand why it is so important, but it is, for Anders. He loves being with others, thinking, talking. Touching as well, little things - he touches you, too, your face, your hand. And he needs love, more than anything. You can’t even imagine how he yearned for Hawke. It made me furious. I thought it’d divert him from the cause… But now I look back and despite everything, we could reach each other when he was in love. The emotion gave him… a stability, that balanced out his guilt._ ” He stared at his hand that wasn’t his.

“ _If I had a physical form, I could give him all the physical contact he needs. He’s already happier than he had been in a very long time, just because we can talk and he has you. I could still protect him without people accusing him of being an abomination. I could help him up if he stumbles, carry his bag; his shoulders tend to ache if he has to carry it for long. I want him to have somebody who can stand by his side, solid and real and warm, because it’s not fair that he doesn’t have that._ ” There was something on his face. Justice brushed it off then frowned at the wetness on his fingertips.

“You were almost that, today,” Cole said quietly, reaching out to gently hold Justice’s tear-dampened hand. “There was just too much-- too many directions to pull, out and in and all around. You couldn’t leave him completely or the songs would be too loud.”

His hands tightened around Justice’s, a resolve in their strength. “But you pushed more than you ever had. For him. If you remember it, remember how it felt to form, to feel-- to be _real_ \-- you could do it again. It’s… a hole in the world, in your shape. You made a place to be and that place is still there, waiting for you to fill it. A river can’t flow through a canyon so it carves a path, slowly, slowly… until it seems it was always there from the beginning. You can do that, Justice. I believe you can.”

The other spirit smiled and squeezed the thin fingers of his companion. “ _You’re right. You’re always right, little brother. I think I can hold onto that memory, and try again. It were really just the circumstances. I will think it over and gather my strength to try again._ ” He turned to lay on his back and after a moment of thought scooted back as far as he could, making room for Cole on the single bed.

“ _Come, I know you’d like to. Just take off your belts and shoes first, this isn’t the cave floor… You might like the bed._ ” A thought occurred to him, an experiment that would involve the boy’s help. He was all about helping anyway, but Justice needed him close for that.

“Oh-- yes!” The thought of removing his shoes and belt before bed was apparently not one that had crossed his mind before that moment. He fumbled with the laces on his travel-worn shoes but eventually persevered, and with his belt proving far less of a challenge it was not long before he slid onto the mattress fully, pressed close against Justice to keep from falling off the small bed. In an impressive stroke of self-awareness, he removed his hat as well, resting it on the floor underneath.

“I think it’s only for one person,” he observed. “It’s alright, though. We can both fit if we’re close together.”

“ _Anders likes to sprawl, but desperate times call for desperate measures._ ” Justice paid close attention to the body’s responses, finding a position that’d be comfortable enough to hold during the night. The long arms were in the way, somewhat, and after a little hesitation, Justice slipped one over Cole’s waist.

“ _Would you mind helping me out, little brother? I’d like to learn. Touch me, like Anders touches you, please._ ” He was curious, and maybe it’ll shed some light on the mystery just why mortals were so fond of physical contact.

“Like he touches me,” Cole pondered for a moment, eyes searching the dimly-lit form of the man in front of him. Then a slender hand came up, thumb brushing along Justice’s cheek and running down to his chin, gentle and slow.

“Like this, sometimes, or…” His other hand came up and he held the other man’s face, fingers running curiously through the hairs of his beard. He laughed a little. “I don’t have hair on my face. Ah--”

He remembered something suddenly, his eyes meeting Justice’s briefly before he leaned in, breath soft against his cheek. His lips brushed skin, hesitating, before they pressed against his face-- a tiny kiss.

“He did that, once,” Cole said, pulling away slightly. “I-- liked it. Is it good?”

“ _Yes…_ ” Justice’s eyes widened in surprise and awe. “ _It’s so small, barely anything - but it sparks a reaction. It’s pleasant. Very much so._ ” He ran his hand over the boy’s back, then carefully caressed the smooth, pale face, brushing away strands of blond hair.

“ _Even when I touch you, it feels good. The body relishes in this closeness… Which makes sense I suppose, considering how mortals need to be close to keep their species alive. There are so many things that give them joy, some quite simple and readily available, why don’t they focus on all this? Why do they have to fight all the time, and especially, why are they so keen on depriving each other from joy…?_ ” He curled his arm back around Cole and pulled their bodies flush together.

“ _Mmm. I think I see why Anders likes this._ ”

“I don’t understand, either,” Cole murmured into the crook of Justice’s neck, settling quite easily into the embrace. His own arm draped around the other man’s back, the other folded between them snugly. “So many people need help-- so many people aren’t happy. Sometimes I can fix it-- sometimes people don’t want to fix it, even when they know how. Some people think hurting is who they are, or who others should be. It hurts to hear them.”

He sighed, nuzzling in closer against the man’s bare chest. “I like this, too. Warm and soft and safe, a shield from a storm. I never tried it before.”

“ _If you want to repeat the experience in the future, you can always ask both of us_ ,” Justice murmured fondly. “ _I’ll let the body to its rest now. We have a long way ahead of us._ ”

***

The morning dawned in dazzling hues, light painting the sky at the bottom then spreading out, illuminating the world. After the briskness of early sunrise, a pleasant warmth settled upon the land, making life just a bit easier and happier.

Anders drifted out of the Fade slowly, into an equally pleasant reality; he felt warm and comfortable and he realized that he wasn’t alone. He blinked, then his expression melted into a soft smile; Cole lay in his arms, snuggled close. Justice was present too, humming soothingly, and Anders closed his eyes to be fully able to enjoy the blissful daze. He felt loved, cherished and most importantly, he was in good company.

“If mages were allowed to have this, no demon would be strong enough to possess them,” he mused, rubbing Cole’s back. “I could count on one hand, how many times I woke next to someone. It’s a wonderful feeling.”

“If you do it more, maybe you can count them on two hands soon,” Cole suggested helpfully.

Anders laughed, brushed the messy bangs from the boy’s forehead and placed a kiss on it before rising.

True to the mage’s word, they did not trouble the innkeeper another day, setting off for the next stretch of their journey. The nearest city to the west laid about two days worth of travel away, weather permitting, and it seemed that would be their best bet for a destination. It would take them closer to the heart of Ferelden, closer to the active rebellion, and hopefully closer to answers about both the situation at large and the disturbing findings of the previous day. Following the Southron Hills southwest would take them nearly into the Korcari Wilds, but it was the safest way to travel, especially if they needed to flee into the hills themselves on short notice. Hopefully, however, it would not come to that.

The day was average enough, a sound night’s rest seeming to perk up even those of the party who did not sleep, and they had made good time in leaving the little inn so far behind it had disappeared from view. Without the dark forest bearing down upon them, the mood was lighter than it had been in a while. It seemed, for once, that things might just go according to plan.

If only.

It happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly that for a fraction of time it was impossible to process. A crack like thunder, the bellowing echo of a distant explosion, and then--

Cole fell with a strangled cry of pain, stumbling and crashing to his knees as if someone had forcefully thrown him down. His hands gripped his arms tightly, desperately, as if trying to hold himself together.

Anders grabbed his head as Justice writhed in pain inside-- he was affected too, but the mortal flesh might have protected him to a degree since he quickly fell back into the bottom layers of consciousness to recover; Anders could almost hear him gasping for air.

He knelt next to the boy, embracing him, checking for injuries out of habit; then he instinctively glanced up-- and he felt the blood froze in his veins.

High above on the still clear sky, something was swirling, a gaping tear like a poisoned wound, painted in sickly green light. It was no telling how far or high it was but it seemed enormous.

As a Spirit Healer, Anders have always had a connection to the Fade’s occupants; sometimes he could even hear their whispers when he used his more powerful spells. Possibly that’s why he connected so easily with his present company. Now, as he numbly watched, holding the keening Cole to his chest to offer at least some semblance of comfort, he became aware of the subtle changes around him.

The air felt charged, crackling with power and there were whispers, elated, curious ones… but a great deal of them were far more sinister. Confusion vibrated all around, fear, helpless disorientation… even rage and despair. But the worst thing was the echo of triumph, a distant laughter, malicious and full of self-assured power. Anders heard that sound once or twice. Demon’s weren't especially good at keeping down the gloating. 

“ _The Veil has been torn,_ ” Justice rumbled, still curled up in the deep, like a cat hiding from the thunderstorm. “ _Just like back when I entered this world. But this is something bigger. Far bigger._ ”

Anders shuddered and glanced down at Cole. “My star… Are you-- going to be alright?”

“Torn,” he said through clenched teeth, “Tattered, twisted-- tugging. I-I don’t want to go back, I _don’t_ \--”

Cole’s hand reached up to grab Anders’ arm, which seemed to steady the boy slightly. He took a deep breath and looked upward, mouth agape, eyes fearful.

“The Fade. It was pulled, pried open and it pushes through, pulls back, pours out. So many voices, so much confusion-- glittering, glinting-- it’s hard to see. I can’t feel-- I-I don’t know what’s real, what’s here.”

He shuddered, fist clenching around the fabric of Anders’ sleeve. “It-- it took so much pain to open. It _hurts_ in every ripple, every wave, and it’s growing. _Why?_ ”

“We’ll figure that out later,” Anders murmured, tightening his hold around the distressed boy. Justice cautiously rose into the motion as well, trying to offer help.

“Let’s just focus on you now, my star. I’m here, I’m real. Listen to my voice. Breathe. Shut it out, shut out everything aside me. I’m here for you. We’re here for you.” He took the anguished face between his hands. “It’ll pass,” he said firmly and from the bottom of his heart, he hoped that it will. “You’re strong and you’ll endure. There is so much hurt, and you wow to heal it. This is why you’re here. And I’m here to help you.”

The thought came unbidden, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Anders leaned closer and pressed his lips against Cole’s in an innocent kiss. Hopefully that’d give him a taste of reality.

The boy drew in a tiny gasp at the sudden touch of Anders’ lips against his, not quite figuring out how to respond until the man had already pulled away again. The gesture _did_ seem to help, though; he breathed out slowly, his grip on the mage loosening as he blinked a few times, perhaps reorienting himself.

“Thank you,” Cole breathed, quiet but earnest. Unsteadily he rose again, leaning on Anders for support as he met the man’s eyes with concern. “I’m sorry for worrying you. It’s-- it’s all shimmering, shining now. It’s harder to tell the difference, but-- but I think I’m alright. I’m _here_. Are you alright, Anders? And Justice?” 

“Yes, I think we are…” Anders rubbed his temples, face flushed slightly. “Justice took a blow, but he’s fine and I… I see what you mean. Everything is filled with-- energy and-- fragments. It is very disorienting.” He bit his lower lip. “In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have done that without permission and I apologize.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Cole assured him quickly. “It was… real, and warm, and-- nice. You helped me remember the here.”

Anders scratched the back of his head. “Alright, that-- helps. I don’t want to make you feel bad. Uh, I’m rambling, but I think it just hit me that I could be your father… age-wise.”

Justice caressed his mind soothingly and Anders relaxed. “This ‘wallowing in self-pity and guilt’ thing sometimes comes back to me, but I’m learning to let go, I promise. Enough of the personal problems. We have something far more pressing.” He looked up. “That thing included. It’s a Fade rift, alright. It’s huge, it took someone a great deal of energy to open it.” He began to walk while musing, after all, they had a destination.

“I wonder if it was intentional or accidental. And if intentional, to what end…? It’s not that Ferelden doesn’t have enough problems already.”

Cole resumed walking as well, his steps less certain in the new uneasy atmosphere, though he seemed for the moment grounded in reality again.

“It was on purpose,” he said darkly, his gaze drifting back up to the crackling, twisting green anomaly. “It’s far away, but it echoes all over, whispers of memories made moments ago. I-- don’t know why, but I know they wanted it. Dark, desperate, it must work, _it will work_ , so close the destination and then-- blood. And then… I don’t know. There are too many voices to hear them all.”

His brow was creased in concentration, perhaps straining to hear what he could through the thinning Veil. “I-- I think we should keep going to the city. Words stick better there-- people will hear things and say them again. It’s a little easier.”

Anders nodded and slowed down a bit, to accommodate Cole’s pace. As if his personal troubles weren’t enough, now the world was thrown into chaos as well, and he definitely did not need that.

As time and miles passed, they noticed that the rift was growing, and it just scared them more. The air was vibrating with the presence of the Fade’s occupants, thrown into the mortal world against their will. The two spirits could sense them clearly, and they did everything in their might to shut it out; and to a degree, even Anders was affected. Probably a lot of mages all around the country were.

The land eventually grew dark as the sun set, and the looming threat above them became more threatening, now glowing against the blackness of night. If one looked, carefully, the slow spreading could be noticed, the rift crawling, stretching as if it wanted to swallow up the entire world. Witnessing it planted fear and unease into the soul, and icy dread-- what else will happen? What can be done against such a horrendous thing?

Anders tried to calm himself with the thought that this wasn’t his problem; someone far more powerful will eventually take steps to prevent a catastrophe. Justice was a bunch of well-restrained helpless anger; he retreated, to not bother Anders with it, and the mage laid down to sleep with Cole in his arms, to anchor the shaken boy to reality.


	5. Chapter 5

The dawn of the next day was tinged with sickly green hues, the sky overcast with turbulent clouds as if the hole in the sky had spun up a storm. Unease still hung heavy in the air, whether it was the restless spirits straining against the Veil or the dread inspired by the haunting sight above, and it was not a pleasant atmosphere to wake to. The world still existed, however, and it didn’t _seem_ to have been taken over by demons just yet, which were both positives.

Cole had clung tightly to Anders through the night, as if a single slip might send him tumbling back into the Fade, but it was actually he who broke the embrace the next morning. Cautiously, tentatively, he sat up and looked again towards the sky, staring intently in silence for a while before he suddenly spoke up, his voice a wave of solace in the morning gloom.

“It-- it stopped! Anders,” he turned back to the mage with a relieved look, “It’s not growing anymore. Look!”

“Oh praise the Maker…!” Anders ran a hand down his face after he peered at the rift critically, to make sure Cole was right. It’s not that he doubted the boy, it was merely to reassure himself.

“Hopefully someone’s going to do something about it… very soon. I’d imagine it makes a lot of people very nervous -- aside the faceless population. I bet they can see it up at Val Royeaux… And it makes those pompous bastards shake in their pants.” He rose with a dark grin, shook his limbs out then packed his things. “Let’s get going. Justice?”

“ _I’m fine and agreeing. Possibly we’ll have to spend another night outside, but tomorrow we should reach a city and continue our investigation._ ”

Compared to the last couple days of travel, this might as well have been a stroll through Hightown. The sky remained overcast but it never did rain, and so far as they could tell the massive rift had indeed ceased its growth. The air around them was still tense, but Cole seemed to have a better hold on himself today, and it was with raised spirits they journeyed forth, hugging the hills as they meandered down the countryside.

It was almost surreal the boredom that day had in store for them, considering all they had been through recently. It was a welcome respite; small conversation and a few laughs eased all three of party members down from their tensions, and by the time the sun was on its way below the horizon, it seemed that perhaps they would be alright after all. They dipped into the hills, sacrificing a half hour of navigating uneven terrain for the benefit of finding a good clearing to set up camp in, nestled between steep rocks where nothing would likely try to accost them. There were a few winding, narrow paths out of their little alcove, leading off to other similar dips in the terrain, but none that couldn’t be watched.

“The Veil is thin, here,” Cole said as they sat by the slow-kindling fire, the sun nearly gone behind the hills. “But there aren’t many spirits around. It’s hard for people to live here, so they never had much reason to come.”

“I’d imagine,” Anders nodded a little absent--mindedly, warming his hands by the flame. “When the Fade is close, it has a way to get to you. Dreams and demons… Hmh. It’s been a while since I last visited the Fade. I don’t mind the demons much though.” He pulled forth his meager dinner.

“I really, really wouldn’t mind a proper meal,” he sighed. “A glass of wine, something sweet… You should try cake, Cole. It might change your mind about eating. If I manage to earn a silver or two, I’ll definitely treat you for something nice.” He sighed. “As horrible Kirkwall was, I miss it sometimes. I could drink on Varric’s tab, and he kept me safe, too… He did have a good heart. And Isabela--” he chuckled to himself, not wanting to go into details, although he was sure that Cole have already caught up.

“There were bad memories, but also good ones. You helped a lot of people, Anders, in Kirkwall. And they helped you.” Cole looked thoughtful in the flickering light of the fire, staring off into the distant cluster of trees.

“He wrote your name as ‘Blondie’ on the tab, but the barkeep knew who he meant. Varric liked to hear your stories-- he wished they would have ended happier, but he never wanted to say it.” He laughed a little at the memories that weren’t his own. “Isabela wanted to help you be happier. She was happy at the Hanged Man, and happy at the Blooming Rose, so she took you there to share it. She knew you liked to be touched, held-- she thought about doing it herself, sometimes.”

“She-- did…?” Anders blinked. “Well, that’s-- kind of flattering I suppose…? She definitely liked to be touched, and a lot, but only by those of her choosing.” And it’s not that he didn’t have a fantasy or two about the gorgeous pirate lady. Isabela was beautiful and strong, and despite everything that transpired, she seemed to have her heart at the right place.

“ _I’m sorry you had to endure so much,_ ” Justice murmured. “ _It wasn’t supposed to be like that. You were a refugee too, in Kirkwall, hiding from the templars, from the Wardens, from… me. And somehow, it feels like everything you were running from was waiting there. Something wasn’t right in the city._ ”

“Yes,” Cole frowned. “I’ve never been to Kirkwall, but… I can feel it, through you-- in your memories. The Fade was very close, there. A long time ago there were whispers, old and dangerous, but the people who heard them wanted shouts, not whispers. They could hear it in blood, louder, stronger… so they made a red lake underneath the city. There are echoes of it there, still. It warps and wounds, shaping the city like the gutters guided blood through patterned grooves.”

He shook his shoulders as if trying to shrug off a heavy burden. “I don’t think I would like it there. I’m sorry for what happened to you in Kirkwall, Anders. And you, Justice. But-- but thing are better now. Becoming better.”

“If you’re suggesting that the city was essentially build on blood magic… I’m inclined to believe.” Anders stared into the flames, shivering. “It would explain a lot. Something just…. sucked the mages in. Everybody found it odd that there were so many atrocities, but nobody knew where to look for the cause.”

“ _I felt it too,_ ” Justice shifted uncomfortably. “ _But there was too much, to many directions, my focus was scattered. The Taint was twisting me and every day I got closer to turning into something horrible… Leaving the city was like a breeze clearing mist and smoke off a field. It was never your anger that caused the problem._ ”

Anders briefly closed his eyes. Knowing that his rage wasn’t what almost corrupted a noble spirit was a relief and the night air felt sweeter in his lungs.

Cole offered a little smile. “It was a difficult place for you. For anyone. Justice is right-- the anger, the sadness, the _desperation_ were in the walls and the streets, not just in you. But they twisted together, tying, tangling until it felt like it was all your own. The dark songs inside, from the old blood… they resonated, echoed back on themselves and grew stronger, darker, louder. It was a heavy burden and it wasn’t yours to bear-- it wasn’t anyone’s. But now you don’t have to anymore. It wasn’t your fault, Anders. It never was.”

He sounded intensely sincere in his assertion.

“Kirkwall was a shadow and you’ve moved into the sun. You and Justice are both brighter now, clearer. Warmer. It’s good.”

“Stop it, I’m going to blush,” Anders laughed, blinking back tears of joy. He felt so free. Like whenever he escaped Kinloch. It was a wonderful feeling.

“ _In addition, I’d like to discuss something with you, Anders,_ ” Justice spoke up. “ _Little brother, I hope you don’t mind us leaving for a while? We’ll be close, and I’ll keep watch._ ”

“Leaving?” Anders squinted. Why was that necessary?

“ _Just humor me,_ ” Justice tugged on patiently. “ _We won’t go far._ ”

Anders rose with a sigh. “Excuse us. Keep the fire alive, would you, my star? We’ll be back shortly.” He walked off, into the woods, perhaps some fifty meters, finally stopping once he couldn't see the light of the fire. He leaned against a tree, feeling rather curious. "I'm listening."

Justice hesitated for a moment. " _This might feel a little sudden,_ " he admitted, " _But the circumstances changed drastically, and I don't want to wait unless you object. The world was thrown into chaos and tomorrow is uncertain. If anything happens... I would like to give you this first._ "

Anders cocked a brow and frowned. He couldn't even fathom what the spirit was thinking about. "Just tell me. We're on good enough terms and have known each other for a while, haven't we?"

" _Those years provided both of us with valuable experiences,_ " Justice agreed. " _I have learned much about the mortals, about you. I know you inside and out and I'm aware of your desires and needs. I'm fairly certain that I could provide you with something that would make you happy._ "

Suddenly, Anders felt a touch against his neck. He instinctively reached out to flick the bug away, but his hand stopped mid--motion and refused to move.

" _It was me,_ " Justice clarified before Anders could have panicked. " _Both. If you allow me,_ " Anders' hand moved again and the mage lowered it, pressing his palm against the smooth bark. " _I can carefully manipulate your mind and body into perceiving something... pleasurable._ "

Anders blinked and he could feel the heat rise inside him. "I know you're not going to hurt me," he agreed. "If you could refrain from moving my body without my consent, I think I could cope." He had some aversions against being pulled on strings like a puppet.

" _I will never do that again,_ " Justice swore solemnly. " _Unless to save your life. I hope it'll never get to that._ "

The touch was back, ghosting over Anders' throat and he tipped his head back with a sigh. It felt so real! Solid and warm, gentle... Just how he liked it. The ghost-finger traced his collarbone, then cupped his face, a thumb stroking his cheek.

"D--do you... feel this, too?" Anders questioned, his voice shaking a little. This entire situation should have been weird, but just the fact that it was Justice's doing made it perfectly fine.

" _No,_ " the spirit replied. " _It isn't quite possible without a physical body... but I feel that you're enjoying this._ " Ghost-lips pressed against Anders' in a tender, innocent kiss and the mage's eyes widened. Then, on second thought, he closed them and it helped; his mind was no longer struggling with accepting that a strong body pressed against his and a pair of warm hands roamed over his body, exactly how he liked it, how he wanted it.

"Wait," he gasped and tugged his shirt off. "This will be better. I don't know how you do this but-- Justice. Thank you."

" _Save that for the end._ " The spirit sounded amused. " _There's more to come. Try to touch back._ "

Anders obeyed and his eyes flew open immediately. Unfortunately, there still wasn't anything to see, so he tried to picture the other in his mind. After all, he glimpsed Justice's physical form a while ago... It was tall, imposing, and now that he thought about it, gloriously naked-- not that that bit took away anything from the fun.

"How do you even--" he questioned breathlessly as Justice effectively tricked him into feeling open-mouthed kisses raining down on his skin. "How is this possible?"

" _I'm afraid, I can't explain it,_ " the spirit hesitated for a moment. " _It's very complex, and it demands a lot of my attention. Fortunately, I have enough to spare._ " His ghost-hand grabbed Anders' ass and squeezed, eliciting a delighted gasp. " _I build from your memories, rearranging and recreating what once happened to you._ " His voice sounded warmer, hushed, as if he spoke right next to Anders' ear. " _Thankfully, you have made quite a lot of memories in your life. What do you wish me to conjure?_ "

"Just... let me hold you," Anders whispered. "I wanted to do that... Since we met. Just kiss me and... use your hand. And promise me that we'll be able to do this again. If I can feel you like this, I don't mind if you don't have a body. You don't have to have one. Having you inside me is enough."

Justice shuddered with joy. " _Anders... my beloved mortal._ "

And there was a flurry of sensations. Anders was eager to believe that the muscles under his hand, the long hair between his fingers and the velvet lips brushing against his were all real. They were, in a sense; Justice was real, after all. He gasped when a tongue entwined with his own; there was a distinct lack of taste and scent, and not as much slickness as normally, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He felt a hand slip into his pants to palm his erection, to squeeze and pump with just the perfect pressure and he responded with eager moans and needy whines, bucking into the contact, holding onto the broad ghost-shoulders like a lifeline.

Justice's voice filled his entire being, whispering sweet nothings, telling him how handsome, strong and worthy he was, and it washed away the dust that settled on his soul over the years. All the grime of guilt and regret burned away in passion's heat, in love's cleansing flames.

Justice bit his neck and Anders cried out, head reeling, body on fire and the orgasm crashed down on him like a mighty wave, sweeping away everything and leaving nothing but deep contentedness.

"L--long hair...?" he questioned, chuckling lightheartedly once he got his bearings back.

" _You like long hair,_ " Justice pointed out.

"And I like strong men. And I'd say, you have blue eyes." Anders leaned forward for a last kiss and dragged it out as long as he was able. "Do you think you can fool my eyes into seeing you, too?"

" _I can try,_ " Justice offered.

"Splendid." Anders picked his shirt from the ground and realized that there was no mess to clean up. It was odd, but not impossible, so he decided not to give it a second thought.

He walked back with slightly uncertain steps and flopped down next to the fire, briefly burying his face into the shirt. Then the realization hit him.

"Maker's breath... Cole. You've heard everything, haven't you."

Cole had not moved much in all their time gone, dutifully guarding the fire as instructed. The boy was carefully easing another stick over the charcoals when Anders fell back next to him, and he blinked at the other man’s sudden realization.

“Yes,” he said, as plainly as if Anders had asked him if the fire was hot. “The Fade pulls, tugged into shapes and senses, a warm touch, a firm body. He wanted to do that for a long time. You did, too. Lips and hands and soft skin, meeting and meshing, moving down and--”

He stopped, suddenly, and his expression turned uncertain. “Oh-- was I… should I have _not_ heard it?”

Anders made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob, but he was a little more amused than mortified. “Well. It is generally courteous to let lovers have privacy… But we forgot to ask, so I’m not blaming you. And… you’re a spirit, and lovers are a delight to listen to, but-- Uh. I’d say, think it over before you mention it to them that you listened. A lot of people are very self-conscious about their weakest moments and don’t feel comfortable knowing that someone spied on them. But, risking that my advice will create a monster-- figuratively speaking of course -- I’d say, you should sometimes listen. It gives you insight, and it is beautiful.” He reached out to rub the boy’s back.

“I understand,” Cole nodded, though he looked slightly bemused. Knowing him, it was probably the ‘think it over before’ part that was giving him trouble. He fell quiet, apparently mulling over the mage’s words.

“It is beautiful,” Cole finally concluded, “Warm, and kind, and caring. Your body moves, makes silent shapes like words, meaning in motion."

His hand extended towards Anders, hesitating; then his fingers brushed against the man's bare side, tracing the bumps where muscles and ribs lay beneath his skin curiously.

"It seems nice. I know it makes you happy-- it makes me happy when you touch me, too, but... " His fingers trailed the dip of Anders' hips downwards, but pulled away when they reached the seam of his pants; he apparently hadn't _completely_ forgotten Justice's warning.

"Ah-- I'm sorry. I didn't ask," he ducked his head sheepishly. "Justice said I should ask."

“Justice knows me well,” Anders nodded. “But I don’t mind it that much if it’s you. I’m… a little different than most. A lot of people aren’t so inclined to have hands put on them. Males think it’s a sign of weakness; if you observe them, you’ll see that even if they touch, it’s brief, as if they’re afraid of it. Females let their hands linger and like it if contact lasts, but they are wary of the touch of those they don’t know. It often means something bad.” He had seen his fair share of tear-stained faces, bruised necks and trembling hands raised in defense even though he had a healing spell glowing at his fingertips.

Cole pondered this for a moment; he seemed to be sorting things out in his mind. "Men don't want to seem weak... women don't want to be hurt. They're different, but-- why?" He frowned. "And you, Anders-- you're not afraid to touch, or to be touched. ... Unless the touch might hurt. Does that mean... you're not a man or a woman?" Man, all this human stuff was complicated.

It also got the mage into thinking. Consciously or not, Cole raised a pretty good question that had been there in all of Anders’ life but no matter how much he thought about it, and how many books he read, he couldn’t find an answer to it.

“I-- am a man,” he said slowly, and not as assured as he should have been. “My body is a man’s body… there’s nothing to discuss about that.” He laughed a little.”I’m just… more sensitive than most. I think a lot about things, I… probably feel more deeply about them. There’s an amazing variety to humans, you see. There are men like me, softer, gentler, and there are women who are harder, tougher. And that’s not everything. Sometimes a person with a male body… has a female soul. It is quite complicated and I don’t want to confuse you any further. Humans are amazing creatures, literally anything is possible when they’re concerned and such an enormous variety is always hard to understand. Even we humans can’t do that, at least not yet. Perhaps one day.” He looked up at the starry sky, ignoring the rift’s swirling lights.

“You are a spirit, and spirits don’t even have a concept of gender, as far as I know. I guess humans and being human is incredibly confusing, but you needn’t be concerned. It only means that nothing is impossible, and you can do or feel anything, you’re not limited by strict rules, because there aren’t any.” He smiled at Cole. “Don’t dwell on it, no need to overthink. I’m sure a lot of things will come to you naturally, without a conscious effort. Focus on the rules of society that we impose on ourselves, study them, remember them, and then you’ll be an effective healer.”

"Rules can hurt people, too," Cole mused. "The Templars used their rules to hurt mages, even when they didn't do anything wrong. Rule can change, fit to a form to fill a function." The boy sighed, following Anders' eyes to the sky, where the clouds had finally started to dissipate. "There's so much to learn, here. I thought... I thought I wouldn't need to. I can hear when people need me-- need help. That's all I should need to know: how to heal them. What to say. What to do. But..." He leaned back against the cold stone, large hat dipping back as it folded. "When I talk to you, Anders... there's more, and it's tangled, tricky. People are complicated." Cole laughed a little, soft and light. "I was scared, but... the more I learn, the more I want to learn. A gem cut on every side, so many faces, flashing light from hidden places when you turn it in the sun. This world has many things. I don't know if I'll ever understand them all. But thank you for teaching me some of them."

“I enjoy teaching you,” Anders’ smile was genuine and he placed a hand on the boy’s arm. “You did so much for me just by showing up in my life. If I can pay back for that miracle, I’m ready to do it. I-- almost feel sorry for confusing you with so much contradicting information. Humans have time to learn, ten years, twenty, thirty… we never really stop learning. And here you are, having to absorb everything as fast as possible, as soon as possible. You’ve got your work cut out for you, little star. But never falter. You’re bright, you’ll get the hang of it.” He felt so… proud. A bit like a father, and the thought warmed him up in the inside. He could also feel Justice’s amusement, his silent approval and love, and his troubles melted away, leaving him so perfectly content like he never felt before.

“I’ll do my best,” Cole said, with almost comical conviction in his voice. “There’s a lot of things to remember... and a lot of things to try, still. I want to try--”

He stopped himself suddenly, an uncharacteristic censorship for the normally free--speaking boy. He glanced up at Anders, then to the flickering, dying fire, then up again at the other man.

“You should sleep, Anders. We have to find the city tomorrow.”

“You’re probably right,” Anders agreed, though he took notice of the sudden stop. “Remember Cole, if you would like to ask about something, you always can. Or-- almost always. Always when we’re alone.” The sudden thought of Cole inquiring about his more intimate personal life in public filled him with dread. The boy was a wonder and an absolute delight, but he had a tendency to take everything literally.

Anders stretched with a pleased moan and tugged his shirt back on. The garment was getting rather worn and the mage inwardly winced as he realized what a sorry sight he must present currently. Messy, unshaven, unwashed, tattered-- and once upon a time, he was so conscious about his own looks, he cared so much for his appearance…!

“I understand,” Cole nodded, scooting closer to Anders in preparation for their nightly arrangement. How strange to think that they had spent nearly a week like this, two men worn down to the threads from travel and adventure, hardly time to breathe except at night. With any luck, they would manage some brief reprieve from the wilderness once they found themselves back in civilization.

“It… made you feel bad, earlier,” Cole continued slowly. “Guilty. I don’t want you to feel that way, about it-- about me. But I thought, maybe-- you did it with Justice, too, so--”

The boy seemed to be having trouble putting the words he wanted together, shifting around restlessly as he talked.

“I-- can I touch your lips with mine, Anders? Like you did before?”

“ _I don’t mind,_ ” Justice clarified and Anders nearly flinched at how smug he sounded. Everybody was out to give him a heart attack, right? The darkness and bright firelight concealed his blush but it didn’t make him any less nervous.

This was ridiculous, why should he even be nervous, it was going to be Cole’s first kiss, not his--

Probably that’s why.

He wet his parched lips and smoothed his hands over his thighs as he sat. “You’d like to kiss me…? Are you sure?” This was even more ridiculous. He knew Cole was sure. But--

“Yes,” Cole leaned forward, his blue eyes bright in the fire’s light even under the shadow of his hat. A smile tugged at his lips, his expression lacking any sign of nervousness now that he finally seemed to have gotten his message out correctly.

“ _But I’m old, and I’m not handsome-- he should have someone better-- what if I hurt him--_ you _won’t_ , Anders.” He laughed softly, his face drawing closer, the front of his hat covering both their faces as his palms rested lightly on Anders' thighs. “You’re always so gentle-- you worry for me, but you shouldn’t.”

Their foreheads touched, messy blonde bangs pressed against the thin strands loosened from Anders' ponytail. His breath was soft against the man’s lips, so close, but still talking, nearly low enough to be a whisper.

“Gentle, and kind, and… so much love, for so many people. It’s-- handsome, I think. To me.” Cole was still smiling when he finally closed the distance between them, brushing against Anders' lips tentatively, eyes half--lidded. The motion was uncertain, unpracticed-- but it was earnest, and he pressed his lips firmly to the other man’s for a brief but vivid moment before pulling away slightly, searching Anders' face-- and perhaps his mind-- curiously.

For a few moments, he couldn’t see anything in either -- Anders just stared at him, mind empty of thoughts. But then, his hands rose to gently cup Cole’s face and the brown eyes softened into molten gold.

“That’s not a proper kiss,” he whispered. “Let me show you. It… might feel weird, really weird, and if you don’t like it, pull away, it’s fine. Don’t mind me at all. Close your eyes, my star, and open your mouth a little.”

Cole blinked a few times as Anders' held his face softly.

“A proper kiss,” he murmured, then he nodded in understanding. “Alright.”

His eyes flicked across the mage’s face one more time before closing, and after a short inhale, he breathed out, parting his lips as he did so.

Anders almost recoiled. But just almost. He let his eyes drift shut as well and leaned closer, until their lips touched. He stole a taste, shuddering at the unique aroma -- nothing like he ever experienced before, clean like spring water, fleeting as the Fade’s reality and laced with the barest hint of power, like magic’s sizzles, the beginnings of a spell. It was lovely, and he could feel Justice arching up gracefully, settling beside him.

He pressed on, lips moving, caressing, sliding against each other and he flicked his tongue against the boy’s mouth before cautiously slipping it past rows of white teeth.

Cole’s grip on the man’s thighs grew firmer and he breathed in sharply as the kiss deepened, but there was no air to be had, only the tongue that now slid over his, light and careful. For a moment he was placid, conforming to whatever rhythm or motion Anders sought from him. It was a new experience for him, after all, and there was… a _lot_ to take in.

Soon, however, he appeared a bit more eager to try reciprocating. The boy leaned into the kiss slightly, seeming to remember he had a tongue of his own to work with, which now ran tentatively along Anders' teeth, tasting, testing. His movements were far from fluid, but he was completely given to the moment now, his grasp on the man loosening to the point that he might have toppled had he not already rested so heavily on him.

It was a new territory for Justice as well, despite what transpired earlier and it was almost too much to have him lingering so close, eager to absorb knowledge. Anders had to concentrate on Cole now.

His tongue found the boy’s again, lazily entwining with it and he could feel the tension vanish from his body. This was wonderful, to have someone close, someone warm and soft… One of his hands slipped to the back of Cole’s head, the other encircled his thin frame. Anders dragged out the contact, then pulled back to breathe, searching the boy’s expression for signs of unease. It was a bad habit, really, and he made a mental note to stop; Cole wasn’t helpless. He would tell if something was amiss.

“So, what’s the first impression?” Anders inquired a little breathlessly.

Cole seemed to be in something of a daze, his eyes open but heavily lidded, staring off somewhere slightly in the direction of Anders' eyes but clearly far, far away. Then-- a sudden gasp jolted him back to reality, panting, wavering unsteadily in the mage’s loose grasp.

“I--I forgot to breathe,” he clarified, once he had enough air to do so. Apparently breathing was a bit harder to get by without than eating or sleeping. When he had steadied himself enough to look back up at Anders, the words started to tumbled out, a clear picture of just how scrambled his thoughts were at the moment.

“I--it’s-- hot, and wet, and deep, and-- it tastes like things, but not real things-- memories of things, musings-- lips like Fade whispers and rain and smoke from magic fire. I think-- i--it’s wonderful. Everything else is quiet, sleeping, dim against the light, a song in the night that makes the forest stop to listen-- I want to get lost in it, and-- and… but…” Even in the tinted glow from the fire, the flush on his pale skin was evident, his breaths ragged even after he had filled his lungs again. “B--but it’s-- my body-- I--I feel it all over, fire on the skin, under it, in it. When you… kiss me. Burning, _burning_ and I-- I never want to stop. I want-- I _want_ \-- and I don’t-- I--I don’t know what.”

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, resting his forehead against Anders' gently.

“It’s-- it’s a lot of things to feel,” the boy laughed, his tone nearly apologetic.

Anders chuckled, relieved. He rubbed Cole’s back soothingly and simply allowed himself to get lost in the moment.

“Well, since it’s so much, probably we should let you have some time to figure it out?” He stole a quick kiss and moved away. “I don’t want to overwhelm you. We have time, no need to rush. Let’s take it slow, one step at a time. Let us retire for the night. If you have questions or want to practice… we can do that later.”

He hoped they could. It’s been ages since he last kissed someone and Justice was as perfect as it got, but--

He didn’t even dare to think about it. Had he any right to do this to him? Cole was bright, but a spirit, new to this world, this way of life. What if it all ended up in pain?

Justice’s hum quieted in his mind and Anders suddenly felt a little uneasy. Presently, sleep seemed like the best option, so he laid down, pulled his cloak over himself and tried to shut everything out, troubling thoughts, the rift’s light and the slow, lazy fire coursing in his veins.


	6. Chapter 6

Another day, another journey. The weight of last night's experiences-- both of them!-- still lingered, bittersweet in the dark shadow cast by every day's uncertainty. It seemed each personal milestone was to be matched by some equally daunting task on a level far beyond their reach, but there was little to do but keep marching forward. And so they did. The hills became softer, smaller against the horizon as the party followed them south, the shadowy outlines of the Kocari Wilds emerging like a hazy dream on the very edge of their vision. They would not stray so far, of course; just as the innkeeper had promised, their journey downward found them eventually a true path, worn down by the wheels of caravans crossing through the hills for decades, that would lead them due west into the next large city. Of course, it was never that easy, was it? Anders and Cole had barely reached the western edge of the Southrons when a commotion up the road caught their attention. It was hard to miss: a single large wagon was stopped, horses kicking restlessly at the dusty ground as a couple armed men paced around. Loud voices drifted out from the covered cart, a man and a woman arguing in tones of frustration, uncertainty, and concern. Cole's expression grew worried as they approached. " _Too soon, too soon-- we were almost there, not now, not yet, please, just a little further--_ there's pain and pushing and the horses can't pull fast enough. They won't reach the city in time-- we have to help them, Anders."

That earned him a puzzled look but then again… Anders could feel something scratching at the edge of his conscious mind, a realization that had yet to dawn on him. The boy was never really off the mark however; if he said help was needed, then it probably was.

He directed his steps toward the display though a bit uneasily. His worries were proven right when the guards spotted them; they immediately drew their weapons. It was actually a relief that they didn’t charge but fell into a protective formation around the wagon.

“Stop right there!” One of them, probably the leader stepped forth, sword pointing towards Anders’ chest. “Who the heck are you?”

“Just a traveler who doesn’t want any trouble,” Anders held his hands up. “No ill will here, captain. I merely saw you standing here and thought you might need some help, perhaps? If not, I’ll be on my way.”

The guard eyed him suspiciously, sword still raised, but he seemed at least willing to listen.

“This isn’t a matter that concerns anyone outside my client and his wife. If you truly mean no harm, continue on your--”

“Wait!” The male voice from inside the wagon suddenly rang out, its owner parting the hanging fabric that shaded him to jump out and approach the new arrivals. He was a well-dressed gentleman, his coat embroidered and his hands adorned with rings, but he seemed to be terribly disheveled. His fingers ran through his combed-back hair nervously, compulsively, and his eyes darted over Anders the way a cornered animal might.

“Wait, alright-- wait. I don’t know if we can spurn any offers for help at this point.”

“Ser, this man literally just wandered--”

“I know, I know,” He waved the air as if to ward off some troublesome insect, and stepped forward to greet Anders with a cautious smile. “Maybe it’s bad news. Maybe the Maker heard our prayers. Ser, you must understand your timing. My wife and I-- my beautiful wife, she’s in the wagon now-- she’s with child. She has been for months, everything was going perfectly well, but the healer told us it would be at least another week before--”

“I _told_ you she was wrong,” the feminine voice called out from within, playful but with a definite weariness beneath it.

“We thought we had time!” He seemed almost on the verge of tears at this point, hands wringing so much that the clatter of his rings against each other was a constant background noise. “We went to visit her parents on the coast. We assumed we’d be back home tomorrow night, and that we could arrange for a midwife at our leisure, but… but just earlier this day, my wife starting feeling-- feeling like it was time. And it hasn’t stopped. At least a _week_ more, the healer had said! Maker, how… out _here_ of all places…”

He ran his hand through his hair again, letting out a shaky breath.

“I… don’t know why I’m telling you all of this. You wouldn’t happen to know how to deliver a child, would you?” 

He laughed nervously, but if the look on his face was any indication, under the incredulity of the situation was an earnest question.

For a moment, Anders felt dizzy. It happened sometimes, when faced with daunting tasks, but it was a mere moment; it passed, leaving him more clear-minded, focused, ready to tackle an emergency.

“It seems the Maker and his Bride have your best interest on their hearts… I’ve worked as a healer for a decade. If you’ll have me, I will see to it that your child gets delivered safely.” He squeezed the poor fellow’s shoulder. Back at Kirkwall, he had seen more than enough births and dealt with enough nervous fathers. Moreover, he had Cole with, and if the boy had any talent, it was soothing nerves.

“Messere--” the guard leader spoke up warily. “This-- man here is some sort of mage-- note the staff. Some roaming apostate coming from Maker knows where, are you sure about this?”

“A mage, an apostate, and a Spirit Healer,” Anders clarified, voice firm, back straight. He was not going to hide it. “I will not do your wife harm. I helped a dozen children into this world, I know what I’m doing. Trust me, please!”

The man’s face had bloomed into a grateful smile that now faltered slightly at the guard’s observation, his nervousness apparently distracting him from the very obvious fact that his potential saviour was indeed a mage. His eyes met Anders', a silent pleading-- then he jumped, suddenly, laughing nervously again.

“I-- forgive me, I hadn’t noticed your companion.” Judging by the befuddled expressions of his guards and the tightened grip on their weapons, neither had they.

“Remember Lydia in the fields that summer,” Cole said quietly. “A thousand briars for one small Rose.”

“How…?” The remark, however cryptic, seemed to strike a cord with the man, whose brow furrowed with emotion before melting into an expression of wonder. He exhaled, a bit more steady than before. “The Maker works in many ways. I don’t have the energy to question them anymore. Just… just help my wife, _please,_ and my child. I cannot bear the thought of her going through this unassisted, and if my only option is the help of an apostate… I trust in the Maker and his will.”

His guards seemed less convinced, but begrudgingly lowered their weapons regardless. The man looked about anxiously, eyes searching for any other company that may be approaching from either direction.

“Listen, I don’t want to get caught up in this… war. I just want my beloved to make it back alright, I want to return to the city a husband and a father. You and your… friend are welcome in our cart. I mean, er, if that’s a good place to work from. I… don’t really know anything about this. Haha. But I’d rather not have some Templars come down this road and see… ah, let’s just maybe move this under a bit of cover, possibly.”

He stepped backward towards the wagon, motioning urgently for Anders and Cole to follow.

“I am not followed by anything or anybody,” Anders clarified patiently, and he sure hoped he was right. “Don’t worry. Just stay outside… This might take a while. I could use some water and soap, to wash my hands, and more for later-- I don’t know if there’s any nearby, perhaps your men know the area? Nobody will die without it, but it’d make things easier. Cole, would you please stay with the ser for a little while? I’ll need you later, though.” He assumed that the boy will be able to calm everybody down.

He entered the wagon, cautiously laying his staff down and nodding respectfully to the young woman laying there. She was indeed a beautiful thing, and her bulging stomach merely added to her appeal. 

“Mistress Lydia, I assume?” Anders smiled at her. “My name is Anders, I’m a healer and by the Maker’s will and your permission, I’ll help you through the following hours. Before we start though…” He sighed. “I’m a mage. You have the right to know this, and you have the right to order me out of here, and you must know that if I stay, and the need rises, I will use magic to save you and your child’s life. I have nothing to offer but my word: I will help you to the best of my abilities if you let me stay, and I have experience with childbirth.”

“I have seen better kept mages,” she commented, eyeing Anders, “but I’ll trust the Maker with this one. You have a nice voice and I’d rather listen to it than Justin’s whining-- Hnnngh!” Her face contorted as another wave of pain crashed down on her. “This is getting worse.”

“Your husband is merely worried,” Anders smiled. She was likable, calm and collected. “He’ll be fine once he has something to hold onto. Thank you for your trust. Make sure you lie comfortably and before I do anything, tell me if there’s something I should know.”

“It’s early,” she bit her lower lip, looking worried. “By two weeks. I didn’t dare to tell Justin, he’d die of fright.”

“Are you sure?”

“Perfectly. I keep a diary.”

Ander couldn’t help the grin. “You are beautiful and of sharp wit, my lady, your husband is a lucky man. Your child is, too; premature birth is a serious issue, but two weeks are passable, there’s a good chance there won’t be complications.” They were in the Maker’s hand of course, and they both knew it, but it was true with every newborn.

Outside the carriage, Justin could be heard bustling about like a bee around its hive, pacing and fretting. Little snippets of conversation drifted through the fabric of the covered wagon-- hadn't they seen a little spring when they came through last week? Would it be clean enough? Didn't they have a few earthenware bowls from last season's stock? Someone rummaged through bags up near the driver's bench. Lydia followed the sound with her eyes and shook her head, but the smile on her face betrayed her endearment. "The way he frets, you'd think _he_ was the one about to give birth." She sighed and shifted, trying to find the most comfortable position she could. They had clearly made the most of the limited space, an eclectic collection of pillows and blankets padding her resting spot amongst unopened crates. One of the guards was leaving, apparently to fetch water. Cole made an unintelligible comment and Justin laughed nervously in response. "I suppose we can only wait now, hm?" She seemed relaxed despite the situation, taking carefully measured breaths when the contractions weren't interrupting her. "We know this road well; Justin's caravans run goods between the cities by way of it. We rarely meet travelers on foot, though. Especially with how dangerous the Hinterlands have been lately. Are you headed to Redcliffe with all those other mages?"

“Redcliffe--?” Anders tilted his head up sharply. “There are-- mages at Redcliffe?” He shook his head. “I’ve been on my own, away from everything, so I’m not quite up to date on the news… But I guess, Redcliffe’s going to be my destination from now on! The Maker is throwing all these little signs together today.” He began rummaging around in his bag, finding his stash of herbs.

“I think I have everything I’d need… And I’d like to apologize in advance. I know you’d probably be a lot more comfortable with a woman doing this, I’ll try to be as unintrusive as I can be. I’ll also need a light--” He flicked his wrist and a ghost-flame lit up on his palm that remained hanging in the air, illuminating the cart’s insides somewhat. It was about as bright as a candle, but it didn’t flicker, and its light was white.

A little mundane magic went a long way. Every apprentice could pull off something like that.

“Well, you’re no midwife, certainly, but if you were looking for debauchery I’d think you’d find it far easier elsewhere.” She gave a little laugh, light and pleasant.

“You must have been far out in the wilds to not have heard the news of Redcliffe, though! The whole Arling was declared a sanctuary for the mages once the fighting broke out. By the king and queen themselves, even. I don’t know where you were headed before, but it may be the safest place for you right now. Especially if you can prove yourself useful.”

Her head reclined against the pillow-padded crate behind her, watching the little ball of conjured light float absently.

“Time-consuming personal business,” Anders offered as an explanation. “Who would’ve thought the king himself will do this?” He shook his head, amused. “I’ll be right back. Possibly with company, but don’t be alarmed. He’s a darling.” With a reassuring smile, he moved out, curious about the outside situation.

When it became apparent that they won’t be moving for a while, the guards began to properly camp down. They were starting a fire, unloading a few things from their horses. The captain settled down at the front of the wagon, still eyeing Anders warily.

The mage ignored him and stepped to Justin. “Your wife is taking it rather well, try not to worry too much. It won’t help anyone,” He told him soothingly. “If you have drinking water with, and I assume you have, I could use a cup boiled for tea-- I have herbs that will ease some of her pain. Also, I’d really like to wash my hands… I’d loathe to touch a newborn otherwise.”

“A-ah, yes, yes!” Justin , to his credit, could at least obey the indirect order now. He soon returned with everything needed and carefully poured the water for the healer; even offered a clean towel for him. Anders took it and the waterskin both. “For the lady,” he explained. “I have this feeling that you’re on good terms with your guards, let them keep you company. I’d like to take my assistant with.“

"Of course," the man nodded, glancing over at Cole, who had been lingering quietly off to the side. "He's been, ah... interesting company. Do let me know if I can do anything more, please. I'll bring you the hot water as soon as it's... well, hot. Warm. Not _too_ hot." The poor husband looked as though he might follow the pair back inside despite Anders' request, but apparently decided against it. With a shaky sigh he resigned himself to pacing around near the pot on the fire, muttering concerns to his guards that the two men did their best to alleviate with calm words and gentle smiles. Despite their suspicions-- or perhaps perfectly in line with them-- they did seem like decent people, both certainly older and more experienced than the young, neurotic merchant they now protected. Cole seemed slightly restless himself, tugging and wringing the hem of his shirt as he followed Anders back to the cart. "I made them nervous," he said sullenly. " _Odd boy, knows too much. Mage, magic, mind reader_. I tried to help, but... they'll forget me, so it's alright. Can I help _you_ help, Anders?"

“The father is in good company, but the mother will probably need a little more.” Anders nodded. “Childbirth is taxing on the woman, both physically and mentally. I think you could soothe her. And… You might not get the chance to see something like this for a long while, if ever. Watching new life enter this world is… a mind-opening experience, and I think you’ll benefit from it.” He placed a hand on Cole’s shoulder.

“Also, if I need something, you’ll be there to fetch them for me. Like the water once it’s boiling. Now come.”

They climbed back to the wagon. Lydia eyed Cole curiously, but she didn’t comment for now. Anders began his work in earnest, gently pulling her simple dress up and calling his witchlantern closer, assessing the progress and explaining what he was doing and why in a soft, reassuring tone. 

Cole settled down near the exit-- not terribly far from where Anders worked, of course, given the cramped space. He listened intently to all the mage had to say about the process as it unfolded, nodding nearly in time with Lydia as various procedures and milestones were explained. She noticed and laughed softly.

“Are you an apprentice, dear? Training as a healer?”

“No, I’m Cole,” he replied, though after a short pause he added quickly, “I’m here to help.”

“I see,” she still looked curious about the new company, but another sudden contraction caught her off-guard and she gasped slightly, expression pained as she tried to ride it out as calmly as possible.

“Love?” Justin’s voice piped up suddenly, a sliver of light shining through to the dim carriage as he peeked in through the fabric flaps. “Is everything alright, Love?”

“Yes, my goodness, yes,” Lydia offered him a weary smile, the strain of labor obvious in her voice. “Let the poor man work in peace, Justin, I doubt anything will change for some time.”

“I have some water for the Ser,” Justin clarified, holding up the small earthenware bowl in his hands. “He asked for it, boiled water, for some of the herbs. I was just bringing it for him.”

“Just searching for an excuse to come check on me, you mean,” the woman teased lightly. True to Anders' instructions, Cole reached out to accept the bowl from the merchant, who now hesitated.

“Well, if that’s all you’ll need for now, Ser… we’ll keep more water at the ready, but if you need _anything_ , please do let me know. I’ll just be… out here.” With a final nervous nod he ducked out, the dull shuffle of shoes against dirt fading as he presumably went to join his guards again.

“He wishes he could hold your hand,” Cole said quietly as he held out the bowl for Anders.

“I know he does, but there’s simply not room back here,” Lydia sighed. “He wouldn’t be able to sit still, anyway. It would have been nice, though.”

“Do you want _me_ to hold your hand?” The boy offered innocently.

Her expression was somewhere between puzzlement and amusement. “Maybe later, dear… Thank you, though.”

“Be careful what you offer, Cole,” Anders chuckled. “She might break your fingers.” He took the bowl and set it down, sprinkling dried herbs into it in carefully measured doses.

“This will help a bit. I wish I had more ingredients, but my stash is nearly depleted by now. I’ll be lucky if I find some elfroot along the way.” “You do seem a bit tight on money…” Lydia remarked carefully. Anders shrugged.

“Circle mages don’t get paid, they’re provided for. Apostates work where they can, doing odd jobs or joining expeditions… The Wardens pick up what’s lying about. It’s amazing that I’ve been all of that. One would think, a lifetime’s not enough for living through so much.”

“You’ve been a Warden?” she perked up. “You’ve fought during the Blight?”

“Not for long, but I had the chance to wear the griffon, yes. And after that, seven years in Kirkwall, tending to the Fereldan refugees. I’ve gained quite a bit of expertise.” That probably set her mind at ease.

“Do you have some stories?” she asked. “It’s not that we have much to do, do we? I recall something happening at Kirkwall not that long ago… They say there was a man in the center of it, perhaps you’ve seen him…?”

Anders lowered his head, but he was smiling. “In fact… I had the chance to know him and I suppose, he makes for an excellent topic to pass the time. I’ll tell you about him. Don’t be too courteous to stop me if you’re in pain, and Cole will help you drink if you’re thirsty, though!”

“Yes, messere,” Lydia wiggled a bit for more comfort, placed a hand on her stomach and looked at Andes expectantly, like a little girl waiting for a tale. The mage settled with his back against the wall and took a deep breath. “His name is Garrett Hawke, but everybody called him just Hawke…”

Anders' Kirkwall tale took them into the late afternoon, the sun casting redder and redder hues over their makeshift camp. The horses were loosened from their harnesses and allowed the rope to graze idly off the road, and the two guards kept watch over the fire as Justin put together food enough for the lot of them. By the end of the story, the fatigue was clear on Lydia’s face, and with the aid of Anders' soothing tea the suggested attempt at a nap was all too welcome for the woman. She would be needing all the energy she could muster later.

With Lydia set up for a brief respite, Anders and Cole quietly exited to join the three men around the fire, who were just finishing off a round of Wicked Grace. After an update and several rounds of assurance, Justin was happy to offer the duo a meal (or, well, Anders, given Cole’s insistence on not needing any). It was nothing terribly fancy, some bread and sausage, but it was certainly richer than the meager rations Anders had carried lately.

They sat and talked as the air grew cool and dark around them, even the guards warming to the company of the apostate and his odd companion. The captain was a Free Marcher, it turned out, and his suspicions about Anders seemed to ease after a few anecdotes from Kirkwall. It was almost strange to have company after so many nights spent with only each other, but even Cole seemed to be enjoying the conversation, adding his own thoughts here and there that were… occasionally coherent enough to respond to easily.

The group had just circled closer, the head guard shuffling the deck in preparation for a larger game of Wicked Grace, when a sudden call from the wagon made all of the men freeze and look up slowly. Justin, who had finally calmed down a little, immediately ran his hand through his hair and began chewing at his lip, his anxieties apparently returning full force at the sudden reminder of their present situation.

“I know you can hear me out there,” Lydia teased, but the playfulness was strained against the underlying tension in her voice. “I-- I think the baby’s coming soon. I can feel it. If you’re ready, messere, I’d appreciate your assistance again.”

“I’ll be with you in a second, my lady!” Anders called back and beckoned to Cole. First though, he took Justin by the shoulders. “Your wife is in the best hands,” he told him seriously. “If you don’t have anything else to do, pray, but try not to worry yourself into being literally sick.” He turned to the guard then. “Sit on him if you must! Give the poor man something to drink, but not too much, keep the water warm and-- stay on guard. There will be a lot of screaming to draw attention if someone’s in the vicinity.”

The captain nodded firmly, and Anders knew Justin will be in good hands as well. He climbed back to the wagon and checked the young woman.

“Yes, it looks like it’s starting. You’ve been taking this most excellently, try to keep up. I’ll be here with you. It’s all about you, if you need anything, if the pain is too much, tell me, and I’ll see what I can do about it. You’re a brave young woman.” He took her hand and squeezed it warmly.

“Cole, take a cloth and wet it, and wipe her forehead once in a while. It’ll soothe her for a moment.”

Cole nodded enthusiastically, dropping from the carriage and returning a moment later with a damp cloth, warm from the pot's water. The sudden energy in the air seemed to excite him, even if it wasn't clear whether he entirely understood what was going on. In any case he was quite happy to aid Anders in the whole ordeal, dotting Lydia's brow with the wet fabric intermittently. Lydia, for her part, seemed in a state of withering fortitude. She was tenacious, no doubt, her jaw set tightly with each wave of pain to keep from crying out, but it was clear that the soon-approaching time of birth was going to be a test of that persistence. Not that there was really any going back, of course. The cup of tea from earlier was long gone, but she chewed some of its bitter remnant herbs to stave off any possible small bit of discomfort. "Is it always such an extended affair?" she groaned, shifting restlessly to chase an ever-changing position of comfort. "Maker, just pull the child out, honestly." Her tone said that she knew it wasn't possible, but her face said that sure wished it was.

Anders couldn't help but look at his own hands. "Trust me, there's barely enough room for the baby inside, you don't want me in there, too. She's struggling to get out, you can help her a little. Enough of this lying about - you need to get up for the real work. Those crates seem quite sturdy. If you sit on one, it'll be easier. Come, hold onto me, I'll pull you up." He steadied himself and gently lifted her from the ground, swallowing back a groan as his back protested against the abuse.

Lydia leaned on the edge of the crate, panting and whimpering - the pain was nearly constant by now. Anders laid a hand on her stomach and concentrated. "She's doing well so far. You're actually lucky; the labor can last for over a day for the first time, and here you are, some twelve hours and just about to finish! Now.. How strong are you, Cole? Think you can hold back a woman keen on escaping?"

“I-I’m not about to _run_ ,” Lydia protested, but her short breaths were coming rapidly now and it was clear she would need the extra support just to remain upright on the crate. Cole was beside her within the moment, one arm wrapped around the woman firmly while the other still held the damp cloth at the ready. He watched Anders intently, wound tight like a spring ready to jump at the next action required of him.

“It hurts, but it won’t soon,” he tried his best to offer consolation to the panting woman. “Pushing, panting, but paced and poised. You’re strong.”

“Push-- sh-should I push? Now?” She had a white-knuckled grip on the crate, eyes darting between Anders and Cole with increasing urgency.

"You don't have to, but according to many, it helps." Anders smiled. "It's your battle, and you can go about it the way you prefer. If the pain is too big, scream, and if it helps, scream more, curse the Maker, Justin, me- everybody will forgive you. And here's a little trick for you--" He called to the Fade's power, the benevolent spirits and shuddered with delight as the healing magic sizzled through him. It was invented for battle, he picked it up from a Warden mage; but it also came handy when tending to more patients. It was a continuous healing spell that lasted for a while, delivering small pulses of energy to everyone nearby. Healthy people sensed it as waves of calm that put them to ease and helped them rest; the sick and injured became stronger and healed faster. Anders once tried it when tending to a woman in labor - and her nervous husband lingering about, much like Justin-- and it proved to be effective. From that time, he set up one for every young mother.

He was also proud of Cole, responding so quickly and effectively. Maybe one day, he might become a real healer, using not just words but herbs and maybe spells to ease the hurt he saw so easily in others.

Knowing that things will take some time still, Anders took care to fetch clean cloth, drape some disposable rags on the floor and roll his sleeves up. A mess was to be expected.

Lydia was stubbornly trying to maintain composure, but the process was a grueling one for even the most composed of women. She pushed, sometimes, her face contorted in pain and concentration; other times just leaned back against Cole, taking in irregular breaths and the occasional gasp or groan. Anders' spell seemed to be helping somewhat; there was no screaming, though the occasional string of curses erupted from her after particularly difficult contractions.

Cole was murmuring comforts near-constantly, only stopping when Lydia would snap at him for silence before resuming when he apparently sensed the passage of her annoyance. It was difficult to gauge how much time was passing in this manner, the three of them doing all they could to move along a process that was largely on its own schedule regardless. After what seemed like an eternity spent in the cramped little wagon, Lydia arched her back and hissed a curse that quickly cut into a strangled cry of pain.

“I-I can feel-- it’s lower, it’s almost-- Maker _damn it_ \--!” She had a vice grip on Cole’s hand as she pushed again, but the boy showed little sign of pain, his attention focused far too strongly elsewhere to notice.

"You're doing great, keep up!" Anders encouraged, starting to feel the need for fresh air as well. He was used to this, but he was also used to somewhat bigger spaces. "You're awesome, Lydia, just a little more, I can see her already!" The excitement was hard to contain. "It will be over soon, keep fighting!"

Gathering all her strength, she pushed with all her might, screaming herself hoarse from the agony, tears streaming down her face. But she was strong, like her entire kind and stubborn and at this point, rather desperate-- and no-one had the right to blame her for it. Her body twitched, muscles trembling as she braced her heels against the sturdy crate, straining against Cole's arms.

"I can't-- I c-can't-" she gasped painfully, "I'm going to die--"

"No, you aren't!” Anders snapped. “Take a breath! It's almost over, Lydia, please, you can't give up! Think of how much you wanted her, remember how you waited for months to see her, and she's finally here! You'll be a mother soon, so please-- Keep fighting for her!"

Lydia swallowed down a cry long enough to nod at the encouragement, her tear-filled eyes shutting tightly in concentration as she poured the last of her strength into the final tense moments of labor. Cole rested against her heavily from behind, his own grip firm on the crates as he pushed back against her straining to keep the woman from toppling.

“From your life, a new life, so close to the world-- just a little longer. You can do it, Lydia. You are _strong_.”

The moments dragged out into an eternity filled with nothing but bright-hot pain. But slowly, the tiny body of the newborn slipped out, covered in crimson. Anders held his breath and prayed while Lydia slumped back against Cole, sobbing and shaking.

The little body wiggled in the healer's hands and the tiny mouth opened, first a breathless little mewl slipping out, then a cough and finally, a wail that got louder and louder, filled with utter indignation.

Anders blinked the tears away from his eyes and laughed. "Praise the Maker! Her lungs are strong enough, she's healthy and-- Look, Lydia! Look at her! You have a perfect little daughter!"

She was still trembling but she sat up straighter, staring at the screaming child raised toward her. She took the baby in a daze and all of a sudden, all the pain, sweat and filth seemed to vanish from her radiant smile.

"Beloved Andraste, thank you so much!" She was crying again, but this time, from joy.

From the outside, shouting could be heard. "Let me! Let me go, I have to--!" In three heartbeats, the curtain covering the entrance flapped up revealing Justin, pale as a sheet, eyes wide open. As his gaze fell on his wife, his knees bucked.

"Maker... Maker help me, Lydia..."

"You're a father now," she breathed, beaming with pride. "You have a beautiful daughter."

"C-can I hold her...?" It came out so meekly, Anders couldn't help but laugh. "In a moment. Make sure the water is warm, the baby needs a bath, and so does Lydia. Not to mention the floor, but I'll take care of that. We'll just wrap your daughter--" The sentence ended abruptly and the smile vanished from his face. "Oh no, no, blight it...!" Fresh blood was trickling down the crate's side, gathering into a puddle by the young mother's heels.

Justin's frightened stutter was drowned out by quick commands as Anders picked up a clean cloth. "Lydia give her to me-- Like that, yes, good. Cole, take the baby outside for a moment-- be careful to support her head. Lydia, dear, your insides were torn, you're bleeding-- I have to heal you. Everyone else, out! No worries, I have it!"

Cole obeyed immediately, by some miracle both managing to hold the precious bundle just right and gently showing Justin out of the way.

Anders looked at the woman, her wide eyes, her trembling lips. "I won't let you die," he assured her. "But this might hurt a little bit. Lean back, please."

The dumbfounded Justin could only be contained until a strangled cry came from the wagon. His worries got the better of him and he wrenched the curtain open--

-to reveal his wife and the healer, both gasping and shaken; Anders' right hand covered in gore down to his wrist.

"What have you--" Thankfully he was interrupted before he could have said anything foolish.

"Justin!" Lydia snapped, her voice steady despite her condition. "He just delivered your child and saved my life!"

“I-- he-- oh, _Maker_ …” It seemed the man might collapse under the sheer weight of the moment and its narrowly-avoided tragedy, but he managed to sink merely to the floor of the wagon, his palms pressed firmly into his forehead as he looked on in a daze.

Once her wounds were confirmed to be sealed, the new mother was adamant about being let out to see her child, and with a heavy lean on Anders and her husband both she was able to step down from the cart. Cole was standing to the side with a profound look on his face, gazing down at the tiny, noisy thing in his arms with wide and wondrous eyes. As soon as Lydia set foot on the ground, legs shaky but with two men to support her, the guards erupted into joyous cheers, coming to offer aid and a few healthy slaps on the back for their absolutely overwhelmed merchant friend.

It took a moment to get Cole to relinquish the infant, but Justin was finally able to accept the swaddled child and hold her for the first time. Words seemed to escape him, but the hard swallow and tears pooling in the corners of his eyes as he looked down upon his daughter conveyed more than enough. His guards were quick to join him by the large bowl of warm water they had prepared, the three grown men fussing and fretting over cleaning the child, a task that apparently required all of their full attentions to complete. No false moves here.

Lydia couldn’t help but laugh at the comical display, shaking her head in loving exasperation. The exhaustion was clear in her face and her posture, but so was the glow of new motherhood and the relief of a happy ending to a dire situation.

“Those two have cleaved bears to pieces, and yet a newborn child bests them.” She looked up at Cole, who had been hovering nearby while Anders cleaned out the cart. “Would you be a dear and fetch some water and a sheet? I’d like a small bit of modestly while I clean up.”

“Yes--!” Cole blinked out a daze and hurried to gather up the requested items. It wasn’t long before they had moved off to the side of the wagon, the boy dutifully holding up a wide sheet as Lydia washed away what she could without a proper bath. The ordeal finally seemed to be winding down to a peaceful end.

Anders likewise got rid of the blood and part of the sweat that clung to him and set to clean up the mess without a word. The cart’s wooden floor was a lot harder to scrub clean than the stones at his clinic back in Darktown, but he tried at least - blood and other bodily fluids had the nasty tendency to rot. Also, Lydia had to sleep somewhere.

It also kept his mind from wandering too far. Holding a newborn always made him choke up just a little, and he would have liked to save some face.

Pillows and blankets were thrown out of the way earlier; now he arranged them the best he could, gathering the sheets and rags soiled beyond saving. Those will be burned outside-- the smell of blood could have attracted predators otherwise.

It didn’t take long for everything getting settled. The blood and pain was washed away; Justin and Lydia sat outside for a while, the proud woman feeding her child like a serene goddess of motherhood, while the proud father watched, love and joy shining in his eyes. The soldiers settled, the appointed guard sat by the fire and Anders rolled out his meager bed in a comfortable distance, tugging Cole with, to finally retire for the night-- for what was left of it, that is.

He looked at the boy sitting next to him. Cole didn’t appear to be particularly shaken, that was a good sign. Anders smoothed his hair back and glanced at the sky. The rift was still there, but at the moment, it seemed insignificant, compared to what transpired.

“That was… quite a lot, wasn’t it, my star?”

Cole looked over at the happy couple by the fire, then down at his own hands, then up again at Anders. "Yes," he finally agreed, "So much pain, so much joy in one day. Wishing, wondering, wanting and worry-- and you helped, Anders. They're very grateful." His gaze drifted over to the parents again, pulling at the grass absently as he talked. "Is that how children come into the world?"

Anders nodded. “It doesn’t always go so smoothly, but yes. Isn’t it a wonder?” He curled his arm around the boy’s shoulder and pulled him closer.

“You weren’t born like this, but I’d imagine it wasn’t easy, either.”

“Similar, but different,” he mused, his head resting lightly against Anders'. “When I pushed through, there was… a purpose, a wanting. It was hard, but I needed to come here-- I needed to help. She didn’t know why she was needed in the world, but it was still hard. Her thoughts were… feelings, raw and tangled and new. Sounds and colors. She cried, afraid, angry, but she didn’t know what they were and that made her _more_ afraid, and _more_ angry. I… didn’t know how to help. There were no words to pull, no memories to find.”

Cole sighed, though he didn’t seem upset-- if anything, his tone was wondrous and amazed. “How do they know what to do to make her happy? They only just met her, but she feels so safe in their arms.”

“You said it yourself - a newborn has no memories, no words, they don’t understand the world yet. So for the time being, it’s mostly just taking care of the body - keeping it warm, safe, well-fed, clean. Once she learns and understands, she’ll decide what makes her happy, and she’ll learn the words to tell about it. A little bit like you, honestly... “ Anders looked into those bright blue eyes.

“New to this world, trying to find your place, learning. You have the words but you have to figure out which ones to speak, and when to speak them. I admit, the analogy is far from perfect, but it still works.” His thumb brushed against the boy’s jawline, slow and affectionate.

“I’m glad I can help you learn. It’s a purpose, aside mage rights. I couldn’t do that much for the latter alone, but I can be here for you and it makes me feel… like I matter. Thank you for showing up in my life.”

Cole smiled at the touch, his own hand coming up to curl around Anders' softly.

“You _do_ matter, Anders. To me, and to other people. I’m happy that I met you.”

His gaze drifted up to the sky, wide eyes staring at the crackling green tear. “I thought about going back, when I learned what I really was. Flitting through the Fade, slipped and sealed away. But something still holds me here, and… I think it’s alright. I think I want to learn more-- if I learn more, I can help more. I wouldn’t have known how to help her if you hadn’t been here.”

He gave a small laugh. “Thank you for teaching me so much. I wonder what I might learn next?”


	7. Chapter 7

Naturally, Lydia insisted on Anders coming along and the mage eventually accepted the offer. By sundown, they reached the city and again, Lydia roped Anders into staying for one night at least. Their house was spacious and tasteful, large enough to speak of wealth without boasting. Anders succumbed to the idea of a soft bed, two wholesome meals and a bath.

He took his time cleaning up properly - he couldn't even remember when he last had a chance to do that and just the thought was starting to make him feel sick.

Once refreshed and with a simple but delicious dinner in his belly, the mage retired to a wide, sinfully soft bed with his companion in his arms.

The next morning came with a splendid breakfast and yet another offer. Justin, now properly groomed and back to his normal - apparently a lot calmer, reasonable and charming - self, approached Anders.

"I haven't properly thanked you yet for all the work you have done." He bowed his head respectfully. "Without you, this house might be shrouded in black by now. I owe you so much, and I'd like to repay your kindness."

"No need; I merely did what I had to," Anders shook his head with a smile. "The Maker would strike me down if I refused to help, and I'm not the one to seek compensation. The joy I witnessed is enough, and you let me stay for the night. That was already more than I deserved."

"Modesty is a wonderful trait, but I must insist!" Justin stated firmly. "I know you don't need this, but please, set your pride aside! I'd feel awful if I let you go without this." He pulled a satchel forth that jingled sweetly. "Lydia mentioned to me that you'll be heading for Redcliffe. It's a few days from here still - this will get you and your companion there safely and swiftly. We would have paid for the midwife or the healer as well."

Anders took a deep breath. His pride was indeed nagging him, but he needed a little cash, and he knew people well enough to know that Justin would indeed feel bad if he didn't accept.

"Alright. I just hope you were reasonable about it." He took the pouch. "Thank you. I wish you all the happiness in the world with your family. May you live long and healthy, and love your little Rose with all your heart." It took him by surprise when the merchant hugged him, but he didn't mind it as much.

They said their farewells to Lydia and baby Rose then left. The road was still long, and they had things planned once they reach a city.

The current one seemed rather pleasant, bustling with life; it wasn't located terribly far from Ostagar, so the news were bound to travel fast. Probably at the right place, a whole lot of information could be picked up.

Cole seemed a little restless, no doubt bombarded all around with stray thoughts and worries. He kept close to Anders as they weaved through the maze of unfamiliar streets, occasionally pausing to check the wooden signs that swayed above various businesses. A tavern or inn would likely be their best bet for news of the recent occurrences, though even out on the street there were frequent clippings of conversation mentioning the “Conclave” or the “Inquisition” as they walked past.

Justin and Lydia lived in a nice area, not too different from Hightown, and it took a few blocks of travel to find accommodations that weren’t too lavish or strictly-maintained. A bit of the street would need to dust the floors for the real news to get spread, after all. At last, though, they found what seemed to be a decent enough tavern, already bustling with regulars and travelers alike. The sign read “Neighborhood Nug”, with a crudely-carved visage to match. Could be worse.

The owner seemed friendly and was more than happy to part Anders from some of his coin, setting him up with a room above the bar. It was certainly nicer than their previous stay at an inn, the room bigger, the window wider, and the bed better padded and perhaps even large enough for the two of them to lie comfortably without cutting out all the space between them. If they wanted that, anyway.

Cole sat down on the bed, scuffing at the floor with his shoes idly.

“There’s a lot of people here. A lot of little hurts. I don’t know where to start helping,” he looked up at Anders curiously. “What do you think we should do, Anders?”

“We’re in no particular hurry, and I think I need some new clothes,” the mage stated. “So I thought of shopping, and lunch. After that, we can come back, you spying around a bit, pointing out people to me who’d be willing to talk, and then you can go about the helping business. If you have no directions, start with the ladies. Also-” He settled down next to Cole and exhaled slowly. “Justice…?”

“ _I’m… here._ ” The spirit was quiet and sounded somewhat… ashamed. “ _I apologize for my absence, but I could’ve been of little use, anyway._ ”

“What is wrong?” Anders asked slowly. “Something bothers you.” Was it something he said or did?

“He isn’t upset with you,” Cole chimed in to assure him quickly. “He’s… wistful, wondering-- he wants to touch you with _real_ warmth, blood under skin and not magic in the air. But his want is a worry-- is there room for justice in Justice the man? He holds you so close, love and justice tangle and twist, and if one were to eclipse the other…”

The boy paused, then leaned forward, looking earnestly into-- and past-- Anders' eyes, seeking the spirit underneath.

“You’ll still be Justice, even if you change. Even if you love-- _especially_ if you love. I was scared, too-- to forget myself, and my purpose. I thought I would stop helping people if I felt more, if I learned more, but I didn’t-- I haven’t. You won’t either.”

Anders tried his damned best to reach out and touch the spirit that resided in him - and it was indeed not easy with him being human and so used to things having a physical form. He still tried, because he cared, and Justice needed the comfort.

"You're afraid of losing sight of your purpose," he whispered. "Because you love me. And it feels too much, too important."

" _I am Justice._ " The spirit wrapped itself around Anders' consciousness, pulsing with real emotions - doubt, fear, sorrow and yearning. " _If I'm not Justice, what am I? Would I even exist? I don't want to give up love, but I cannot give up myself either. I'm scared._ "

Knowing a friend to be in so much anguish and not being able to comfort them was maddening. Anders wanted to claw his chest open to cradle Justice close and soothe him.

" _I want a body for myself,_ " Justice confessed. " _I was so jealous when you kissed Cole. Like you were with Fenris when Hawke kissed him. But it feels... like a selfish wish. I'm Justice, I should want that body to wield a sword, wear an armor, to right injustice, to help the people, Thedas, mages... Instead, I want it to hold you, kiss you... make love to you. It feels both wrong and right, and it tears me apart._ "

Anders took a shuddering breath and opened himself up, to let the negativity pour in; because if shared, joy doubled and sorrow halved. He accepted it all, until the point where him and Justice were so close, there were barely any borders. The feeling was indescribable, an overwhelming sense of completeness, of perfect balance.

"Justice... let me help. We can do this together. If- when! you get your body, I'll be there for you. I'll remind you of who you are, what you are. I'll watch and I won't let you lose sight of your purpose, I won't let you lose yourself."

The wave of relief washing over him made the mage gasp.

" _Thank you, Anders. Thank you._ "

Cole broke out into a relieved smile at the reconciliation, his hands resting lightly on Anders' as he spoke to both of them.

“It’s a river that flows both ways-- a conversation instead of an argument. Even if you’re separate, in separate bodies, you’re together in love-- it will be enough.”

He released the man’s hands and stood, peering out the window at the bustling streets beyond the half-drawn curtains.

“You don’t need to envy me, Justice. There’s a place in the world with your shape already-- it will wait for you to fill it.”

“ _But it was you, who got to kiss him,_ ” Justice borrowed Anders’ mouth to voice his defense. “ _He got to hold you and you were warm and solid in his arms._ ” He chuckled though and held his hand up. “ _But I’m not angry with you. Neither with Anders. It’s just… hard to wait. That is all. I’m more angry with the world for not letting me do this, with the Veil for keeping me back._ “

Anders pulled back with remarkable ease, forfeiting his body to the spirit inside. Justice stepped to Cole and hugged him from behind, ducking his head under the wide brim of the ever-present hat. “ _I could never be angry with you, little brother. I can’t thank you often enough for your help - you single-handedly eliminated the walls between us, you were my voice when I couldn’t speak. Don’t think I’ll give up. Perhaps one day… We’ll get the chance to both hold Anders._ ”

Cole laughed softly, his own arms raising to wrap around the ones that crossed him from behind.

“I think Anders would like that,” he mused, leaning back against the man. “I know you’re not angry, Justice. But I hope you get to touch Anders soon.”

He fell quiet for a moment, before a curiosity suddenly seemed to hit him. “Justice, when Anders kissed me… did you feel it too? You were close, but still underneath-- light and lingering but lucid.”

Justice tightened his hold a little with a thoughtful look. “ _Yes and no. I could feel his joy, his love, his gratitude and some lingering insecurities, but I wasn’t occupying enough space to physically feel it. I didn’t want to push myself into it, it was for you and Anders._ ”

Cole was quiet for a moment, perhaps mulling over the memory.

“I wouldn’t have minded,” he declared finally. “It’s a happy thing, warm and wonderful. It should be shared. I would share it with you, Justice.”

Was it a statement or an offer? It was never quite obvious with the cryptic boy.

“ _The memory? Can you do that?_ ” Justice tipped his head to the side. “ _Or- do you mean, share it like mortals do?_ ”

“Ah Justice, flirting so subtly, I’m so proud!” Anders snickered at the back, making Justice blush very faintly. “ _Well I- have no objections to either of those options._ ”

“I... don’t think I can share memories,” Cole said, with a slight uncertainty in his voice. He had apparently never considered the idea. The boy pulled away from Justice, but just enough to turn and face him, searching his glowing eyes curiously. “I can try to share the feeling, though. It… won’t be as good as Anders could, but…”

He smiled, almost sheepishly; Cole didn’t seem to have any embarrassment in his inexperience, but it was apparently on his mind nonetheless. Not that it stopped the eager boy, of course.

“I’ll do my best.” And with that his lips were against Justice’s, soft but earnest in their movements, leaving the poor spirit little time to react.

The blazing blue eyes went as wide as they were able to, Justice locking up at the onslaught of sensations. It took a second or two to react, gently nudged by Anders; Justice wrapped his arms loosely around Cole’s slender form, closed his eyes and kissed back. It should have been weird - teeth knocking lightly, a warm piece of flesh in his mouth and all the saliva - but it wasn’t just sensations, it was feelings and now Justice had an inkling why mortals seemed so inclined to smush their faces together.

Kissing was a very pleasant experience. Maybe a little too pleasant; Justice tore away with a gasp, taking a few deep breaths, partly because he needed air and partly because he was surprised.

” _Is this- reaction to expected at every kiss_?” he questioned, turning to the rightful owner of the body for confirmation.

“Not every single one, but it happens often.”

“ _Did this happen to you at the first time?_ ”

Anders shifted. “I don’t think there’s a point in denying, is there.”

“ _What does it mean?_ ”

“That it was done right.”

“ _Oh._ ”

Cole blinked a few times as they parted, his face flushed slightly from the experience. He remembered to breathe after pulling away this time, at least.

“Is it-- alright?” He met Justice’s eyes, before his gaze darted downward-- then up again. “You have a lot of feelings. Twisting, tangling-- a touch, too much, so many things in one small moment. You don’t need to be embarrassed, though, Justice.”

He wrapped his own arms around the other man in what was likely supposed to be a reassuring gesture, but it only drew them closer together. _Very_ close.

“You touched it before-- the night in that room, in the inn. Would it help to touch it again?”

Anders was forcibly and hastily shoved to the front with Justice burrowing himself deep. The mage blinked, suddenly assaulted by tangible reality.

“Excuse me, but is Cole implying that you’ve been touching my dick? With him present?? Justice!”

“ _I was experimenting,_ ” the spirit mumbled, trying to burrow into the most hidden parts of the consciousness. “ _It’s not that he doesn’t have one of his own-_ ”

“Aargh!” Anders threw his head back and pressed his hands against his face. Apparently he was left with two more or less horny teenagers to deal with. One of them was apparently dead set on trying everything, but the other-

Anders heaved a deep sigh and took Cole’s hand. “Alright. Let’s have a serious conversation. Come, sit with me.” He settled down on the bed and took a moment to gather his thoughts.

“You are a bright little thing, Cole, and I know you know a lot of things. Nakedness or sex won’t scar you; if you live at a Circle, especially with your abilities, you see that all the time. But sex is something very powerful… like a weapon. A beautiful sword that you can use to protect people but it has an edge, and it can kill. I’m trying not to push anything on you because when you’re not prepared to deal, if you don’t understand what you’re doing, it could hurt worse than anything. Let me show you.”

Cole looked confused for a moment, but understanding soon smoothed his features. His lips parted and silence hung briefly, before he started to describe what he saw.

“Amanda. Hair and eyes like burning fire, wild and free, a will all her own. Kept in Kinloch, a prison too small for her spirit and she strained against it, wandering the ways, always searching, always smiling. A friend. But she wandered late one night-- alone, but not, and…”

His face creased in concern, then dawning horror, and he sucked in a shuddering breath before continuing. Words spilled out unsteadily.

“The stone was cold on her back, skin bare where she didn’t want it to be-- grip too tight around her arm, a-a Templar, hand on her mouth, voice thick like bramble bushes in her ear-- pushing her back, pushing _in_ and-- a-and-- in the infirmary, the next morning, tattered and torn like the clothes she’d worn that night, the fire gone, snuffed out by choking smoke, too young, _too much_ , every touch on her skin the same as his. She was gone, a friend by name but no more by action. Battered. Broken.”

A shiver ran up his spine, his hands gripping at the bed as if for support. The pain of the memory was clearly difficult for Cole, and he looked at Anders with troubled eyes.

“I-it _hurt_ her, what he did-- destroyed her. It hurt you, too, to see her like that. To-- lose her.” He shook his head fervently. “I-I don’t want that-- I don’t want to _be_ that, I don’t--”

"Hush! Hush my star, I'm sorry." Anders took Cole by the wrist, thumb stroking the soft inner side.

"I know it was terrible, but I had to show you. You have to learn. I'm sorry. Please, keep listening. I'll show you something else."

The boy wavered unsteadily, but nodded. He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again as he began to describe the new memory being gleaned from Anders' mind.

“Heart beating fast, his hand on mine, pulling, smiling-- the key ring jingles in his pocket even as he puts a finger to his lips. _So much trouble, Karl, if we get caught_ \-- but he says you’ll just have to not get caught. The room is dark, a single candle dripping wax like words drip from his lips into your ears-- bodies tangled, back arched, a box for a bed, robes for a blanket when they come off underneath. He is slow, borrowing time but refusing to burn it, strong hands and strong lips that hold back until he knows it’s alright-- until you tell him it’s alright. Teased, touched, trembling as he takes you but not from fear, from _joy_ \-- from anticipation finally realized, so many months, so many times the fire kindled only to burn down to ashes. A hand-- your _own_ hand on your mouth to keep from crying out-- the Templars could be close, closing in, but it only makes the feeling stronger, surging with excitement. He’s inside you, and above you, and all around you as the fire burns, brighter, _brighter_ and-- bursting.”

He exhaled slowly, quiet and contemplative for a moment as he stared down at the bed. When the boy looked up again, he seemed to have calmed somewhat.

“I liked that one better,” he finally said quietly.

“Me, too,” Anders agreed, his face flushed a bit. Hearing that wonderful hour described by someone else was sure exciting. He took Cole’s hand and pulled it to his lips to kiss the knuckles.

“This is why I worry when the topic comes up. Even when I don’t want to, I could end up like that templar, hurting you like he hurt that girl, and I couldn’t live with that thought. I want you to know what it’s about, so you can make your own decisions. When you’re inexperienced, sex can be confusing, frightening, it could mark you for the rest of your life, so never go about it carelessly. At least, you can hear your partner’s thoughts, and I know that if you sensed unease, you would stop. I- I’m not going to pretend I don’t want to make love to you.” His blush deepened. “You are lovely, charming, good-looking and I love you much; I’d be honored if you wanted to lay with me, but I need to be hundred percent sure you wanted this, really wanted this too. I- also don’t tell that to people often.” Anders took a deep breath.

“Can you see now why I get nervous? I am just trying to protect you from something horrible. What do you really know about sex? Do you know your own body at all...?”

Cole fell into silence again, apparently considering all that Anders had said, his eyes on his own hands as they picked and fussed with his threadbare gloves. He couldn’t stay quiet for long, though, as he turned to working things out the best way he seemed to know: aloud.

“My body... is just a shape. It’s the shape that can help, that can be the him that won’t hurt anymore. It doesn’t need to eat-- the old songs are enough. But it bleeds, and it breathes, and I have to move it if I want to move. I know that some people like their bodies touched, or held-- a gentle stroke on the forehead, waves in a sea of calm-- but I never thought about _my_ body. It’s different-- it’s for helping. Nothing else matters-- looking, feeling. Nothing else… _should_ matter, for me.”

His brow furrowed, doubt creeping over his face.

“But I… like it when you touch me, Anders. When you kiss me. I never felt those, before-- I never thought to feel them. But when I do, it’s… real. It makes me feel more real, more... remembered. It lingers and-- and I want more. Like a fire in the coals, glowing, burning under my skin. I-I don’t know if I…”

The boy paused, then apparently switched trains of thought, chancing a look up at Anders.

“Justice seeks new sensations, not just for him but for you-- to please, perform, to show his love. But there’s still curiosity, testing, trying, touching the body and knowing it. So much to feel that he never knew-- that I never knew. I-- I want to know it, for you too. You make me happy, and-- I want to make you feel like Justice did-- like Karl did. But it’s also… maybe for me. I-I don’t know. I don’t _want_ to want. But…”

He trailed off, eyes dropping again, clearly struggling with the two different sides of what he was.

Anders listened intently, trying to understand something that was so alien. “You… never thought of your body as ‘you’. It’s like a mask, like clothes; you just wrap it around yourself so you could get things done. Humans can’t normally do that. A few can but their spirits-” He stopped, mind working at top speed at the new theory.

“They say, humans and spirits both are the Maker’s children. He made the spirits first, but they couldn’t change; so he gave them the Fade to live at, and then he created humans. Humans can change, adapt… What it- what if it’s their bodies that enables them to do that? What if humans are just… spirits in mortal bodies? Some are weaker, some are stronger, some use magic, some overcome the boundaries of their own bodies and are named heroes. The mortal body comes with a lot of urges and drives, and the spirit can decide whether to embrace or deny those. There are hardly any temptations for a spirit of the Fade. Those who find one- might turn a little more human, or if the temptation is strong enough, demons.” He worried a fingertip over his lips, eyes sparkling with excitement. “I need to discuss that with someone- a mage. More mages.”

“ _Focus, Anders,_ ” Justice nudged him helpfully, and the mage blinked. “Ah, yes.” He took both of Cole’s hands. “You are a spirit, my star, and spirits seldom want things, as we both know. If a spirit wants, it becomes something else. You wanted to help and you changed. That change brought a human form with. But a human body comes with wants of its own, and the realer you become, the stronger these wants. If you want to be more human, you’ll need to learn how to deal with those… and that’s going to be scary and difficult. It’d be a lot easier to stay less real, more like a spirit, as they have no wants, but then people will keep forgetting you, forgetting Cole.”

“I _want_ to help.” Even as the boy spoke, there was uncharacteristic hesitation in his voice. He stared down hard at his hands grasped in Anders'. “If people forget me, it can make it easier to heal them, and I-- I shouldn’t want to be remembered. Remembering doesn’t matter. But… _Cole_ wanted to be remembered. To have not been forgotten. I can’t… I can’t let that feeling go. It holds me here, heavy like a stone on my chest.”

His hand folded out over Anders' and brought it up to brush the knuckles against his lips, a timid mimicry of the man’s earlier gesture.

“Maybe I’m already more of a human than a spirit,” he mused, a small hint of a laugh in his voice as a smile tugged at his mouth. “I-- I wonder if I’ll never go back across, back to the other place. I feel grounded, gripped tight on this side-- something holds me here. But I can _help_ here. And if I can still help, even if I become more real, I… I might like that.”

“I just want to see you choosing wisely,” Anders said seriously, resting his hand on the boy’s cheek. “There might be a point when you have to choose and… once you decide, there won’t be any turning back. And I won’t be able to help you make that decision. You’re so kind, and… you like me. You’d be inclined to do what I want, and I’m in no place to decide the path for you. If a moment like that comes… you’ll be alone, my star.” It broke his heart to say that. Justice wound his ghost-arms around Anders’ shoulders to ease his burden, and the gesture was welcome.

Cole nodded slowly, his face somber. "I will try to make the right choice," he assured quietly, before tugging Anders closer, draping him in his own loose hug. "You don't need to be sad, Anders. You always worry for me-- for what's best for me. Gentle, genuine. Thank you." He pulled back slightly to meet the mage's gaze once more. 

“You aren’t like the Templar that hurt Amanda. You don’t batter, or bruise-- you won’t hurt me _because_ you worry about hurting me. I-- don’t know a lot of things, still. About this world, or this body. But you’ve already taught me so much, Anders, and… I want to learn more. With you.”

The mage swallowed, trying with all his might to not think of the pale body, that alternated between being lanky and lithe laying sprawled on a bed, back arching from pleasure, sky blue eyes covered by haze, kissable lips parted, shuddering gasps escaping through them…

“ _Don’t worry, I got you,_ ” Justice murmured. “ _I need to concentrate, but I can hide your thoughts from the boy. No offense, little brother, I’m only doing this for both of your sake._ ”

Anders sighed with relief, and smiled at Cole. “This is discussed then. No more awkward dancing around the topic, no more unease and unnecessary worries. When we’re alone, you can ask me anything, ask me to do anything, and I’ll do my best; and if you feel uncomfortable, or overwhelmed or scared, you will tell me so, and I will stop and explain. I’ll worry a little less, knowing that you’ll speak up, and you _will_ speak up, for both your sake and mine. Deal?”

Cole had frowned, looking bemused at the sudden mental blockade-- it was not a barrier he was accustomed to dealing with, apparently. The confusion gave way quickly to an earnest and enthusiastic nod, though, at Anders' terms.

“I will,” he assured, returning the man’s smile. The conclusion seemed to draw him out of the moment, though, and he pulled back with a small _“ah”_ as something crossed his mind.

“We need to find the mages, still.” His head turned to glance out the window again.

“And clothes. New ones. Without holes and stains,” Anders added. “We can also include lunch and possibly cakes.” He rose and pulled Cole with.

“We have an entire city for ourselves to discover, let’s get started!”

It was about midday, the bustle of the people lessening a breath as lunchtime drew near. It didn’t take too long to find a tailor’s shop, who seemed to be delighted - after being assured that Anders had the coin to pay for the goods - to offer an entire new wardrobe, from the absolute essentials to a new coat. The latter made Anders chew on his lower lip - the garment the tailor pointed out was rather fetching though a bit more expensive than he would’ve liked. They had to reach Redcliffe, after all. And he wasn’t traveling alone.

“My star, you should have something decent for yourself, too,” he turned to Cole, eyeing the patched tunic; though it seemed to be holding well. The pants were quite decent. Altogether, the entire young man was quite decent, albeit somewhat unusual. Like a dashing scarecrow, really.

Cole stared for a moment, his expression almost baffled, before his eyes slowly trailed over the clothes on display and then finally down at his own eclectic outfit.

“But… I _like_ my clothes,” he insisted, his tone comically defensive.

“Alright, fine,” Anders chuckled. “It’s not that people see you wearing them.” He noticed the tailor’s slightly horrified look and hastily added “You don’t go out that much.”

Eventually he caved and let the tailor take his measurements for the coat. They left with a lighter purse, and the promise that everything will be ready by tomorrow.

The next stop was a small restaurant, where Anders ordered a decent meal, and some dessert. While his mouth was occupied, Cole made himself useful by slinking up to tables and dealing out cryptic reassurances to the guests. It would’ve been a little creepy if not for his ability, but Anders knew that he was merely driven by goodwill, no matter how strange his methods were.

The main course was cleaned up and the waiter gathered the dishes, placing the dessert on the table in turn, a light pastry cup filled with thick vanilla custard and topped with a generous amount of whipped cream. Anders could barely remember when he last had something like this.

“This is something you must try, my star. It’s very light and tastes like the sweetest dreams of the Fade.” He scooped up some of the whipped cream with his fork and offered it to Cole. “Trust me on this one.”

Cole perked up at Anders' voice and joined him quickly at the table, eying the offered dessert with some trepidation. Food had apparently not been an overall pleasant experience for him. After a moment of hesitation, however, he decided to trust in Anders' judgement, taking the fork carefully from the mage’s hand and holding it up as if it might suddenly come to life.

“I’ll… try,” he agreed gingerly, hesitating again before finally braving a small bite from the cream, tongue licking his lips where it stuck as if to cleanse some bothersome residue-- which is probably exactly what it was to him. Cole’s expression was difficult to read. He didn’t seem to recoil from the light treat; if anything, he seemed thoughtful, nearly puzzled.

“It... doesn’t _taste_ like the Fade,” he decided finally, handing the fork back to Anders. “But it reminds me of it. Light, fleeting, floating like a cloud on your tongue. But then it changes-- pools and pours down, a trickle in the throat, sweet and soft. It’s not heavy, and it doesn’t stick, or stay for long. I-- think I like it.”

He seemed very pleased with this fact.

“I knew you will!” Anders beamed. “That was my line of thought. It’s just cream and sugar, nothing of substance but a nice flavor. If you want to, you can have all of it, perhaps a bit of custard - but leave some for me, too”

It made him ridiculously happy that Cole was enjoying it and made a mental note to order another one and bring it back to the inn, where Justice could try it as well.


	8. Chapter 8

By the time the pair returned to the tavern, the afternoon crowd was filtering in, a good number of the guests already many drinks deep into conversation. Even up in their room, where Justice sat slowly working his way through the rich desert gifted to him, the constant din of patrons below was loud and raucous. Surely _some_ of them would have news from the area to share, whether they knew they would be sharing it or not.

The setting sun dusted the buildings outside the window in rusty hues of red, and it seemed finally time to head downstairs once more to see what could be gleaned. There was a crowd to weave through, now, and after a quick nod towards Anders, Cole left his side, wandering over towards the fireplace where a good number of people had clustered together around a haphazard arrangement of tables to watch an ongoing game of Wicked Grace. Anders was left near the bar counter, where-- as luck would have it-- a sitting patron finished the last of his mug and slipped off the stool, stumbling outside to whatever grand adventure of street navigation surely awaited him.

It didn’t take long to pick up snippets of the conversation between the two remaining patrons at the bar. The one closest to Anders was a rather average man with messy hair and a messier accent, his partner a frail--looking elven woman. Neither carried staffs, nor wore robes, but the discussion they were deeply involved in was indicative enough of their natures.

“... and Grand Enchanter Fiona ‘as proven ‘erself more than capable of ‘andlin’ things, yeah? Ya worry too damn much.”

“I hope you’re right. I hardly expect a warm welcome in Redcliffe, but I’d rather not walk into a massacre.”

“Are things that bad at Redcliffe?” Anders asked, feigning innocent concern. As the pair looked at him, he gave them an embarrassed smile. “I’m sorry for barging in, but I’m heading to Redcliffe myself, and-- if the lady’s concerns are valid… I might need to rethink my plans. I don’t want to get caught up in something terrible.” A bit of acting came easily to him; he had chances to use this talent back in his Circle days.

“They say, the village was declared a sanctuary, so-- theoretically there should be no trouble brewing there.”

“It ain’t that it _been_ bad, it’s that people might be tryin’ to _make_ it bad soon,” the man chimed in, apparently all too happy to gossip with a perfect stranger. “After all that ruckus up at the Temple of Andraste, everyone’s lookin’ for someone to blame. And some people’re blamin’ the mages.”

“‘All that ruckus’? Geoff, _hundreds_ of people died up there. How can you be so flippant--”

“Ya think I didn’t know a lot of ‘em? Shit, I don’t even wanna think about it. Don’t make me think about it.” He took a hearty swig from his mug before setting it down hard on the counter, his gaze returning to Anders. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion-- or perhaps in an attempt to see clearly through the drunken haze he was enveloped by.

“You a mage, too? You look… mage-y.” Whatever _that_ meant.

“I hope that’s not a problem?” Anders kept the innocent smile going. “In my defense, I spent the past five days or so roaming the Southrons, so I wasn’t even near the Temple… What happened there?” Pieces of information, mainly glanced from Cole began to line up and Anders blinked, pointing a finger skyward. “Does it have anything to do with that enormous Fade rift above…?”

The man blinked too, an incredulous expression forming on his face.

“Damn, you must be way outta the loop. S’got _everything_ to do with that big fuckoff hole in the sky. I don’t even know where to start--”

“What my inebriated friend is going to try and fail to explain,” the elf cut in gently, “Is that the Divine called a meeting at the Temple. It was supposed to bring together the mages and the Templars, get them talking instead of fighting. I don’t know how she expected to do that, but…”

She hesitated, then sighed, shoulders falling as the weight of the catastrophe began to fall over the conversation. “Something... happened. No one knows what, but it-- it killed everyone there. The Divine, the Grand Clerics, more mages and Templars than I want to think about. And it opened the hole to the Fade. And, well, since the only people who have ever done that have been mages, some people have been saying--”

“That ain’t true,” Geoff cut her off in protest. “There was one person that survived. Some halla--rider from the Marches. Said she was guided out by Andraste herself. The Herald of Andraste, they call ‘er. Said she went back later to stop the hole from growin’. Said she’s workin’ with the Inquisition now. Said she’s a mage, too.”

“Yes, well,” the woman seemed less taken with the idea. “People say a lot of things. It doesn’t change the fact that people like _us_ are now even more feared and distrusted.”

“Sweet Andraste…” Anders stared at them in shock. He had an inkling what sort of crowd could have gathered at a conclave like that -- the First Enchanters, the Knight Commanders, their retinue… and they all perished. And the Grand Clerics and the Divine herself, too! Whoever orchestrated all this just delivered a crippling blow to all major parties.

“This makes no sense…!” he muttered, more to himself than the other two. “The Chantry, the Circle and the Templars all lost a lot of people there, it couldn’t have been either of their work! But opening a rift--” He fell silent as the puzzle pieces hesitantly began to click together.

The Elder One mentioned at Therinfal. The strange Call, speaking about a god. The Call he heard years ago, standing beside Hawke, that monstrosity they defeated--

“Corypheus…?” But no, no, that wretched thing was dead, Hawke killed it-- But if it wasn’t him… It was someone very similar.

“You say the Inquisition is back to business now…? Someone should warn them about Therinfal--” But who would believe him, or anyone, without proper proof?

The elven woman knitted her brows in confusion. “Corypheus? Therinfal…? Isn’t that the old Seeker--”

“You bet your ass they’re back in business,” the man chimed in again, suddenly lively, slamming down the mug he’d been drinking from. "They’re set up in Haven, tryin’ to reign in the chaos. S’what the Inquisition was for last time, after the First Blight. Keepin’ peace. S’what I figure they’re gonna do this time too.”

“The Inquisition was not kind to mages, if you recall,” the woman said, irritation tinging her voice before she turned back to Anders with a subtle roll of her eyes at her companion. “But… yes. Both the Right Hand and the Left Hand of the Divine survived. They were on business elsewhere while Most Holy held her Conclave, and when she died… they declared a new Inquisition. We haven’t seen much of them yet, in truth.”

“If they really got a mage helpin’ out, enough that they’re callin’ her Andraste’s chosen, it can’t end up so bad, I figure,” Geoff reasoned.

“Still… if you have any kind of news, ser, from out by Therinfal-- especially if it might clear the name of mages-- you might bring it to Grand Enchanter Fiona in Redcliffe first. You were headed that way anyway, weren’t you?” She tilted her head inquisitively, but her voice lowered as she continued. “Are you an apost-- er, well, I suppose we all are now. Were you from a Circle? We’ve come together from Ostwick, this fellow and I.”

Anders laughed a little. “I’m somewhat proud of being one, so you didn’t offend. I-- used to belong to Kinloch Hold, but that was a long time ago. I’ve wandered a lot, seen-- the Free Marches, some of Tevinter, some of Orlais, most of Ferelden. I tried to keep off the main roads and settlements though, that’s why I’m so ill informed. I haven’t seen much of the war. Basically nothing. Not even how the Circles are faring... “ Shame welled up in him; he should have been there. While mages were fighting for their freedom, he was away… even though he had perfectly good reasons to be.

“But yes, I should probably speak with the Grand Enchanter. Don’t know if she’ll believe me-- Oh Maker, why does it have to be so difficult!” He leaned his head into his hand. Here he was, with information that might actually help the mages, and he was still an apostate, a murderer, possessed and traveling with a spirit in human skin. He’d be lucky if Fiona doesn’t fry him on sight with a lightning!

“I’m sorry, I must seem a bit crazy, just babbling incoherently… Forgive me. Normally I’m a lot more collected but it’s been… a rather rough week. I have a lot on my mind, it gets a little hard to sort it out. I think I need a drink.” He waved to the barkeep for a shot of whiskey.

Geoff chuckled as the drink was set down, giving Anders a friendly, if a bit too hard, slap on the arm.

“There’s a man with taste! Put that one on my tab, barkeep, it’s mages’ night here tonight!”

“Could you say that a bit _louder_?” The woman groaned, resting her head against her hand in exasperation. “They’ll think we’ve all gathered here to conduct some kind of blood ritual or something.”

“So? What’re they gonna do, call the Templars down on us? I told ya already, Melle, ya worry too damn much.” Geoff finished off what remained in his mug before grinning mischievously. “We ain’t in hiding, and we ain’t criminals. I’ll _sing_ our damn rights if that’s what it takes-- shit, that’s someone’s job here anyway, yeah? Where’d that minstrel go? I heard her crowin’ earlier. Wonder if she knows that little mage-y jingle…”

The man was off his stool within the minute, standing unsteadily but stubbornly in spite of his obvious inebriation. Not even the embarrassed sigh of _“Maker, Geoff, why,”_ from Melle deterred him from his staggering, determined march into the crowd of people in search of the tavern bard. Melle shook her head, clearly stressed by the brazen behavior, though a small guilty smile tugged at her lips as she turned back to her remaining company.

“He has no shame-- you don’t either, I suppose, about being an apostate. I wish I could be more like you, honestly.” She laughed a little, sipping from her own mostly-full mug. “It feels strange, still, to be out of the Circle. I know it’s for the best, but-- ah, the Circles are gone, if you didn’t know. All of them.”

She smiled, but it was weak and worried. “I should be happy for the freedom-- and I am-- but it’s rather terrifying too. I’ve never left Ostwick. But you-- you’ve traveled a lot! Have you been to Redcliffe before? Is it nice there?”

“I’ve reached it, once,” Anders admitted, though not without pride. “When I fled from Kinloch. I was notorious for running away. It was pleasant back then… The castle was impressive.” He dragged his fingertip around the rim of his glass. “I know freedom is a strange thing. But once you were like this -- people seldom are born in Circles. It’s nothing new, merely an old treasure reclaimed. No templars to follow your every step. The right to defend yourself. A closed room when you have the coin to pay for it, no curfew, and the right to love…” He glanced after Geoff.

“That was something I desperately wanted, and I’m glad now every mage will be able to experience it. They need it, a taste of life, sunlight, grass, clean air. It’s wild. Reckless and intoxicating but we’ve been denied it for so long, we’ll have to get drunk at least once. Then, with our heads cleared, we can sit down and start shaping our lives. Let those go who want to be normal people, never even bothering to use magic. Teach the children how to resist demons instead of pitting them against one without warning. Form a new union, a-- Brotherhood of Mages, where we watch out for each other and can use magic for the benefit of others. Didn’t Andraste say that magic should serve man? The Chantry was terrified that mages will use it to rule, so they made us slaves, controlled and afraid of ourselves. We need to unlearn that self-hate and take care not to go overboard. So I certainly hope that when you say ‘the Circles are gone’, it doesn’t mean that they were all burned to the ground. Strange as it may seem, we’ll need to return to them, but we’ll need to open the gates and carve some windows into the walls. Like in Tevinter, the former prisons should turn into schools. The future mage children will need guidance but also the promise that they can leave if they want to.” He chuckled.

“I’ve dumped quite a bit on you just now, didn’t I? I can’t help it, I’m really passionate about this. It’s a pity I couldn’t see it happening. I had to help someone else first.”

Melle had been listening intently, enthusiastic nods punctuating each of Anders' points. If nothing else, he hadn’t lost his knack for speech-giving.

“It’s quite alright, I… needed to hear that, really,” she said, her whole posture perking up in renewed confidence. “It’s not really a loss of solidarity, is it? Just a chance for a renewed community of mages-- a free one. Most of the _buildings_ the Circles used have survived, and if we could retake those… if we could make them places of learning without being at the mercy of the Templars… that’s a rather beautiful idea, isn’t it?”

She smiled, and it didn’t even falter when Geoff came hobbling back. He gestured vaguely to one of the nearby support beams that held the open space aloft, where a rather baffled--looking minstrel glanced after the drunken man before she shrugged and prepared her lute.

“Took a while to explain it to ‘er, but she _did_ know the mage-y song,” he said, sounding incredibly pleased with himself. “Gonna sing it now. Maybe when she does and no one runs to cut us down you’ll finally calm down, ya fret.”

“Mage-y song? ‘Enchanters’? I remember when we heard it for the first time-- up around Kirkwall, wasn’t it? Right before we crossed the sea from the Marches. It was exactly what we needed to keep moving forward.”

“Wait,” Geoff looked up, incredulous. “The songs have _names_? I coulda just told her the name and she would’ve known what I meant?”

Melle sighed in exasperation. “Well, I _hope_ you’ve requested that song and not something else entirely.”

She looked up at Anders again curiously. “Have _you_ heard it in your travels, friend? It’s the only song I’ve heard that was written for… well, us. If you haven’t, I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard it… I’d definitely remember it--” Anders suddenly was sitting all proper and wide-eyed like a Chantry choir boy. A song about-- mages? From Kirkwall? He so hoped it was not about the fall of the Circle, and Orsino’s despair, but-- what else was there to sing about?

He was definitely not expecting the minstrel’s voice rising, her fingers dancing over the strings. She may not have liked the song, but she liked her job and the emotion shone in every verse.

_“Enchanters!_

_The time has come to be alive_

_In the Circle of Magi,_

_Where we will thrive with our brothers._

_Enchanters remind_

_That time will not unwind._

_The dragon’s crooked spine,_

_Will never straighten into line.”_

Anders gasped softly and blinked to keep the tears out of his eyes. It was a march, a rallying call, a hymn -- for mages. A battle song to lift the spirit, to remind of the goals one was fighting for. No such thing was ever done. If a mage appeared in a song, he was a villain, a bad omen, a poor wretch at best. And now, they had a song for themselves, something real, something meant for them -- and while Anders would have fought with teeth and nails for the contents of his backpack, he knew very well that non--material possessions were far more valuable. Like Freedom. Like love. Rights and songs that would keep people warm at nights, lifted their spirits amidst hardships and gave them strength to put one foot in front of the other.

_“Enchanter, come to me!_

_Enchanter, come to me!_

_Enchanter, come to see!_

_Can you, can you come to see,_

_As you once were blind_

_In the light now you can sing?_

_In our strength we can rely,_

_And history will not repeat.”_

By the time of the refrain, he lost it. Anders pressed his hand over his mouth and bit his lip, trying not to cry, but it was too much. This was worth every moment of misery. If this was what the mages all over Ferelden were thinking, then it was the beginning of a new era, where those with magical talent didn’t see themselves as a living, breathing _curse_ , a punishment inflicted by the Maker himself. The song was strength, belief, self-consciousness. _We are here. We deserve to live._

True to Geoff’s prediction, there was no sudden rise in protests at the song, no Templars bursting through the door at the heresy-- there were a few odd glances from some of the patrons, but most seemed far more interested in their own conversations and drinks. A few grins broke out on faces across the crowd-- fellow mages, perhaps, or simply sympathizers. Perhaps the idea of freely mingling magic--users was not so drastic a notion to the populace after all.

Once the minstrel finished, a little baffled by the reaction, Anders had a wet spot on his sleeve from brushing off his tears. He was laughing though.

“Thank you,” he nodded to the lute player. “It was beautiful.” He topped the praise with a coin and let her go. “I-- don’t know what to say,” he glanced at Melle and Geoff with an apologetic smile. “I lost my composure, but it’s… it’s wonderful. I’ve never thought I’ll hear a song like this. I’m overwhelmed!” He shrugged helplessly. “Maybe I’m getting old. Do you-- have an idea who wrote it? I’d have never though such songs could come from Kirkwall. After what transpired there...”

“After what transpired there? That’s _exactly_ why it came from the area, I’d imagine!” Melle said brightly, barely-held emotion wavering in her own voice as she swallowed back tears. “Surely in your travels, you heard about how much of an inspiration the stand of the Gallows against the Templars was to other Circles? Even the fall of the Chantry… it was a tragedy, to be sure, but I’ve met few mages who didn’t share the frustrations that must have influenced the man who carried out that act of rebellion.”

“They say the one who wrote that song wrote it about ‘im. Knew ‘im, even, maybe,” Geoff chimed in, opening his eyes again after zoning out to whatever realm of thought the performance took him to. “Seems like everyone in Kirkwall claims to know someone or another from its better-known residents, though. Dunno that anyone’s seen the mage in years.”

“He left quite the legacy, regardless.” The elf laughed softly. “You can feel the impact he’s made in this song, can’t you? The story of his defiance-- of the Champion of Kirkwall’s friend, the Rebel-- was a rallying cry all across the Marches and Ferelden. Maybe even Orlais. And someone saw fit to put it to song, and… I’m very glad they did. A song of our own, finally, to sing with pride.”

“Th--the Rebel-- of Kirkwall…?” Anders could practically feel his blood draining from his face, turning as pale as a sheet. He felt lightheaded, dizzy; even Justice rose inside, curling ghost-fingers around his shoulders. “ _Keep it together, please. See? They don’t hate you._ ” “I-- I thought they’d come up with something less flattering,” Anders stammered, feeling strangely out of touch with reality. Was he even speaking loud…? “Like the ‘Butcher of Kirkwall’ or something equally charming. I like Rebel a lot more though… But who wrote that song? There wasn’t a single one of us, who could do it…” Varric had a lovely voice and all of them could sing, especially after a few mugs of ale, but playing the lute was not one of their many talents. Well, except for-- Anders pressed a hand against his forehead. Could it have been her? It would’ve made sense…

Suddenly, he realized that Geoff and Melle were staring at him; the man in simple alarm and some compassion, the girl with growing suspicion. She was smart. Anders swallowed hard. He kept this secret for so long, and now it wanted out, clawing at him in the inside, begging to be laid bare.

“That song… is about me. I’m the Rebel of Kirkwall.” He lowered his head and exhaled. The world fell back into focus. He felt lighter. Cleaner. He smiled a little when he felt Justice squirming in joy, flooding him with glimmering golden light, and he didn’t care about the possible reactions, or if he had a blue flame in his eyes from finding the perfect balance with his older spirit companion. Everything was right with the world.

There was a beat of silence amongst his two companions after the revelation, both sets of eyes on the man with mixed emotions fluttering behind them. Geoff barked a short laugh of disbelief, but it quickly settled down into an incredulous chuckle.

“Shit… you ain’t jokin’, are ya?” The man shook his head, scratching at the scruffy stubble on his chin. “I’d call it bullshit but you ain’t got the eyes of a bullshitter. You really _were_ the one that blew up that Chantry?”

“Do you _realize_ what you could have been for the rebellion? What kind of symbol you would be if you were around to head--” Melle’s voice rose in emotion at first, accusatory, before she stopped herself. Her hard gaze softened as she breathed out slowly, the tension in her posture loosening. “... I’m sorry. It’s been a mess without any clear leader, not until Grand Enchanter Fiona took on the role, and I just wonder if you had taken up the flag instead-- but of course you had to flee. They might have made an entirely different example of you if they caught you.”

She studied Anders carefully, suspicion in her eyes still, but also curiosity. “Why come back _now_ , Rebel? Will you join the rebellion proper?”

“I will do what I can,” Anders clarified, curling his fingers loosely around the girl’s arm. “And it’s me who should apologize. You have no idea how much I wanted to partake in the battles, but-- Yes, part of the reason was that they wanted to burn me like Andraste had been and I’m sure as soon as word goes up that I still live, the Prince of Starkhaven will sick a pack of mabaris on me, but-- I could have stayed, still, I could have--” He paused. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried leading people before, I might have failed, dragging you with me. Hawke was the leader. And-- I don’t know. It never happened; no use dwelling on it.” He tilted his head to the side.

“The tales don’t mention that I’m an abomination? That I was possessed by some demon?”

Ever the worrier, Melle’s eyes shifted wildly around them at the word “abomination”, but the only one near enough to hear it was the entirely disinterested bartender polishing mugs with his eyes far away.

“We… heard a lot of things, especially from the Templars at the Circle when the tensions rose. That was one of them, yes-- that you were possessed by a demon, carrying out its work.”

“And that you were tryin’ to bring down the whole Chantry. Murder the Divine,” Geoff counted them off on his hands. “Use all the bloodshed to do some kinda ritual, that you ate children and murdered pets-- y’know, the kinda things Templars always say when a mage don’t behave. Any mage in the Circle with half his brain intact knew better than to believe it, o’course.”

“I mean,” Melle hesitated, leaning forward and lowering her voice. “It’s… not _actually_ true, is it? The abomination part?”

“It depends,” Anders shrugged with a cheeky grin -- it was almost alarming, how fast the different emotions bled into each other, but somewhere deep inside, he enjoyed it. Finally he could talk about all of it, he was talking to mages and-- the future looked brighter.

“They weren’t entirely wrong, I am still possessed to this day, but not by a demon. It’s a powerful spirit called Justice. It’s just… You see… I used to be a lot of things, filled with hatred, a Grey Warden and a fugitive at Kirkwall, among others… And somehow it just all added up into this huge, nasty mess and Justice-- I think the best way to phrase it is to say that he got ill. He was poisoned by the Taint, the despair, Kirkwall itself, and he was turning into something… nasty. I admit that we really looked like an abomination and things nearly turned worse. That is why I couldn’t join the war. He was lashing out and I couldn’t control him, so I went into hiding to try and make it right. I was essentially the very thing simple people thought mages were -- possessed by something terrible. It took us three years to work things out but thank the Maker, we’re fine now.” He smiled as he felt Justice’s pleased humming inside.

“In fact, he was the one who convinced me to try and help the mages. Before, I mainly just wanted to get out of Kinloch really, really bad. Then I met him, and when I raged to him about how mages are treated all over Thedas, he got upset. He is Justice, after all. So he prodded me to start doing something. He also needed a host and I eventually agreed to let him come along for the ride. If you’re not scared, you can even talk to him… somewhere more private. It’s a little scary when he manifests.”

Melle swallowed, her face conflicted as she tried to process it all. A life spent in the Circle was surely one not kind to the subtleties of spirits and their relationship to demons. Geoff looked thoughtful, tapping on the rim of his empty mug as he mulled over the other mage’s words.

“Got some kinda balls to admit that, Rebel. If you spent time in Kinloch, you know what that kinda talk would get ya. Death. Or worse. Dunno if I’m keen on talkin’ to a demon-- spirit-- right this moment, but I gotta admire a man who calls one a friend.”

“You’re sure it’s not… sick, still?” Melle asked with trepidation. “That it’s not just controlling--”

“Shit, Melle, he just told ya you could talk to ‘im. Sounds to me that they’re pretty well n’ truly their own.”

“I _know,_ but…” She sighed. “It’s hard not to be nervous, knowing this. Blame my Circle upbringing, if you must. I… trust you, Rebel, I do. I trust your intentions in… hosting a spirit, and I trust your judgement about what went wrong, about what is fixed now. Hopefully. I guess I’ll have to trust in the Maker for the rest.”

She sighed again, trying to relax; it was clear that she wanted to believe Anders, but old ways of thinking were proving difficult to let go of.

“I suppose that’s why you left for so long, isn’t it? Because you couldn’t control it-- control him, and you needed to work things out.” Melle rested her chin against her palm, leaning on the bar counter as she spoke. “I… will have to think on this. Forgive me, I’ve never met an abom-- a person possessed by a spirit before, and I certainly never expected it to be the Rebel of Kirkwall. How strange you would return now, just to happen to meet us here-- perhaps the Maker wishes to teach me something tonight.”

She laughed a little, the idea apparently comforting.

“I have only my word to give,” Anders said quietly. “But trust me, I know what the bad kind of possession feels like and this… is not that. Justice is my friend, a true friend and he protected and comforted me more than one occasions. It’s a pity I can’t introduce him properly… he’s a fantastic companion.” He placed a hand over his chest and briefly closed his eyes, shuddering with delight as the spirit affectionately nuzzled him just behind his ear.

“However, the Maker indeed throws a lot of signs into people’s path nowadays! You wouldn’t believe what I’ve been through this past week. It might have been Him who called me-- back from Tevin--” He trailed off as something began to nudge him. Puzzle pieces threw themselves up like a flock of birds and aligned into a pattern once again centering on the same strange insight. “Maker preserve me it was the Call!” Anders breathed, wide-eyed from the realization. “Alright, this is going to sound so crazy, there’s no way I just made this up.” He leaned closer to the other mages and took a deep breath.

“I used to be a Warden, and all Wardens carry the taint in their blood. Now, it’s a lesser-known fact about Wardens that they eventually succumb to it -- there’s this thing, the Call. It urges the Warden toward the darkspawn and they usually die at the Deep Roads, fighting them. While I was with Hawke-- the Champion, he was called to aid the Wardens; they needed him to strengthen the seal on the prison of an ancient Darkspawn. When I was there, I heard the Call, but it was a little different. Alarmingly different. We killed that Darkspawn, his name was Corypheus. Now, I’m just returning from that ancient Seeker fortress, Therinfal -- it is occupied by Templars now. And they have a new type of lyrium, red lyrium. It’s incredibly potent and dangerous. While I was there, I heard the same Call again that Corypheus used. If not for Justice, I’d be dead by now, or worse. It was strong, terrifyingly so, and it’d mean that a similar, ancient Darkspawn is behind it. And these… Red Templars allied themselves with. There is also a demon in the fortress, apparently wearing the face of a commander.” He took another breath and continued.

“I’m telling you all this, because I just realized… that I had no reason to come back! But something tugged at me, very subtly. I wasn’t thinking much about it, I suspected I was homesick or something but… now I think it was the Call. It pulled me back from Tevinter, through Orlais, Northern Ferelden, to the Brecilian Forest and to the fortress. It was faint, but I know that Justice was silencing it so it won’t drive me mad -- but what about the other Wardens? The Call cannot be ignored, it consumes every single one of them sooner or later! Are they hearing it now? Are they heading toward Therinfal as well? With the red lyrium amassed there, they won’t be able to resist… they’d be in that Darkspawn’s grasp!” He stopped for a moment, hesitating, but he saw no point in stopping now.

“We suspect that this very Darkspawn is responsible for the Conclave’s demise and the Fade rift. I don’t know what he’s planning, but… it seems to be very elaborate and frighteningly widespread. He eliminated the most influential members of every Chantry-related party, and he now commands part of the Templars and possibly the Wardens. Obviously he has demons at his disposal. And now I think I need another drink.” He waved to the barkeep. His hand was shaking a little.

By the time another shot of whisky made its way into Anders' hand, Geoff and Melle were both wide-eyed and staring at the man once more. After a moment of consideration, Geoff tapped on the counter with his own mug for another refill. It was going to be that kind of night, apparently.

“Do you realize how fuckin’ crazy this all sounds?” the man asked, shaking his head incredulously. He wore the expression of someone slowly realizing just how in over their head they were. “Like… shit. I wanna believe you’re not some ravin’ lunatic who thinks ‘e’s the Rebel of Kirkwall, but you’re not makin’ it easy with claims like that. Ain’t never heard the name Corypheus, and ain’t never heard of red lyrium--”

“He _did_ say he had come from Therinfal Redoubt, earlier. This isn’t all made up on the spot,” Melle offered, her own face troubled as she turned back to Anders. “This… is a lot to think about. We’re not Grey Wardens, and I don’t think either of us have heard about this… Call, that you describe. I have no way of knowing if you’re lying, but I suppose I can’t see what you would gain from it.”

“Fiona,” Geoff spoke up suddenly, setting his now-full mug down hard enough that some sloshed onto the counter.

“What...? You haven’t had _that_ much to drink Geoff, I know you’re not in the ‘completely unintelligible’ stage of intoxication yet.”

“Grand Enchanter Fiona,” he sounded out slowly, as if it explained anything. When Melle’s face told him clearly that it didn’t, he sighed and continued further. “ _She_ used to be a Grey Warden too, yeah?”

“They say she was cured of the Blight, though. Somehow. So if this ‘Call’ is related to that… but she still might be the one who needs this information the most. She would understand best. If it’s true, and if anyone could do something with it-- I think it would be her.” Melle glanced at Anders again. “Listen, Rebel. This is… out of our hands, Geoff and I. We’ve been following the roads to Redcliffe because we aren’t fighters-- we couldn’t survive out in the Hinterlands, not with the Veil so thin and the war so tense now. But you’ve spent time out in the wilds before, and you have a… spirit, with you, who could help… it would undoubtedly be faster to cut through the the forests and farms to get to Redcliffe. Especially for news as potentially urgent as this.”

“Possibly yes…” Anders tapped his fingers against the counter nervously. “There are two ways to Redcliffe from here, one the Imperial Highway, which is safer and across the Hinterlands… which is a little less safe, from what I’ve gathered. But a straight line is always the shorter route… I was planning to take the safer roads, but you are perfectly right, this information should be relaid to some sort of authority as soon as possible.” His shoulders sagged as he sighed. “More nights spent under starlight… I’m getting too old for this.” He lightly touched Melle’s arm.

“You two stay safe. If you’ve made it so far, you’ll be alright. If, perchance, anyone asks about me, tell them the truth, that I headed for the Hinterlands. I can’t be sure that they aren’t looking for me. I will try my best and if the Maker wills so, we’ll meet again. Thank you for everything. I-- know that you don’t trust me fully, and it’s understandable. If I had a way to prove myself, I would.”

Melle smiled at the gesture, patting the hand on her arm in comfort.

“I… believe that you believe in this. If I may say so: for all of our sakes, I hope you’re mistaken. But if indeed this is true, if our troubles are so widespread and numerous… I can think of no other man more suited to rally mages against them than you, Rebel.”

“Can prove yourself by provin’ yourself,” Geoff mused, swirling the ale in his cup idly. “We ain’t nobody, me and ‘er, not in the grand scheme a things.”

“You’re too kind, Geoff.”

“Y’know what I meant. We’re goin’ to Redcliffe to be part of somethin’ bigger. Can’t argue over petty details, can’t afford to call bullshit on everythin’ we hear. You got news to bring, so bring it. Maker willin’, it’ll save us all.”

“Maker willing,” Melle echoed.

There was a light touch on Anders' shoulder-- Cole. He was smiling, perhaps at the contentment he gleaned from Anders, or perhaps from what he’d accomplished himself in his time milling about the tavern crowd.

“You can ask him, you don’t have to be embarrassed,” he spoke up suddenly, nodding towards Melle. “He might laugh, but there’s no malice. He would say yes.”

“What…?” The woman blinked, brow creasing in confusion before--

Red bloomed over her face like a rose, the elf setting down her cup hard and startling the man sitting next to her, who followed the flustered woman with a baffled stare.

“Scared the shit outta me, Melle. Never seen ya so red, what on earth--”

“ _Nothing!_ ” she insisted, hurriedly rummaging through her pockets for coins to scatter across the counter. “Just-- going to sleep now. We’re travelling early, yes? Need to-- need to get some rest first.”

She huffed, her blush only growing deeper, and she wheeled around to leave before hesitating. She turned back to Anders and gave him a distracted nod.

“Wish you the best, Rebel. I hope to see you in Redcliffe when I-- w--we get there.”

Geoff looked completely and utterly astounded as the elf hurried off to climb the stairs, shaking his head slowly as he worked to down the remaining ale in his hand swiftly.

“She’ll be the death of me, that elf,” he grumbled as he downed a final swig, pulling out his own coinpurse to pay off the night’s tab. “Wish ya luck too. If you don’t make it, we’ll try our best to let ‘em know what you told us. Or Melle will, anyway. She remembers shit better.”

He slid from his stool as well, clapping Anders firmly on the shoulder as he stepped away unsteadily. “Was an honor to meet ya. Ain’t ever been much of a fighter, but you stirred the pride up in me with what ya did in Kirkwall. Know I’m not the only one.”

“I… honestly didn’t think for a long while that anything will come of it, aside maybe Kirkwall getting marginally better,” Anders murmured. “But I’m glad that I managed to do something good. Travel safely and take good care of her.” He grinned. “I think she likes you.” He deliberately ignored Geoff, curling his arms around Cole’s shoulders and drawing him into a loose hug, trying to not getting slapped in the face by the ever--present hat. “We should go to bed, my star,” he whispered. “Apparently we’ll need to make a swifter journey than I imagined. Tomorrow, we’ll pick up my clothes and a few more things, then we’ll be off.” He rubbed the boy’s back. “Have you accomplished anything grand?”

“There was a man who needed money from the game to buy bread tomorrow. I helped him win,” Cole said brightly, entirely unaware that such aid would, perhaps, not be looked on terribly kindly. “And a woman whose mother wanted a son instead, the son she could never be, but I helped her remember why she left, and the old name doesn’t hold her anymore.”

He paused, then, glancing over at his companion.

“You’re happier now, Anders. A weight washed away, secrets sung and shining proudly. It’s good.”

“Oh, you have no idea how much!” Anders sighed happily. “Then again, you probably do. Let’s go.” He led the boy away, up on the stairs after leaving a few coins on the counter.

“We’ll need to be as fast as possible, so we’ll be braving the Hinterlands. It’s not going to be the leisurely walk I imagined, and I hardly doubt we’ll be able to spend every night at a tavern… Maybe one or two. But it’s a farmland, we might be able to sneak into barns. It’s just… I’m not sure the locals would take kindly to us appearing on their doorstep.” He closed the door behind themselves and shrugged off his coat. “Your abilities will come handy. When you sense ill intent or looming danger, we’ll have time to get out of harm’s way. We should reach Redcliffe in a week.”

“Yes,” Cole agreed, “Wandering, watchful, slipping away like smoke to the sky, never there but ever moving. Redcliffe will hear about the red song.”

He settled down onto the bed, quiet for a moment, looking thoughtful as he watched Anders from under his hat.

“The woman you were talking to,” he finally said, speaking slowly as if to find the right words, “Wanted the man to take her clothes off and touch her, everywhere, but she was too shy to ask. She thought about it a lot. They were... nice thoughts. Warm hands, strong but soft against her body, skin on skin and lips on lips-- I think--”

He paused, then stood, meeting Anders' gaze with his own stark blue eyes.

“Anders-- you said I could ask you to do anything, when we’re alone.”

“Oooh, boy. I need to sit down for that.” Justice laughed at the comment, pulsing with curiosity. While he had seen a thing or two, intimate physical contact was still intriguing to him and since he had plans, he was eager to listen. Anders had no objections, allowing the spirit to settle beside him, a blue flame lighting up in his eyes.

“What would you like, Cole?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is going to be FUN. >3 But you'll be able to skip it; it's mainly tasteful decoration, and adds nothing to the plot.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I stated previously, this chapter is all about sex. Not the penetrative kind, mind you, but still sex. If the very idea of Cole getting cozy with someone bothers you, skip this chapter. You're not going to miss anything.

Cole followed Anders back to the bed, settling down next to the man. The added company didn’t seem at all an issue to the boy, who smiled at the flickering blue presence of Justice behind the mage’s eyes.

“I think I’d like… _that_. What she saw in her mind. You… can’t see it, but--” he hesitated, locking eyes with Anders briefly before he leaned forward, pulling himself further onto the bed to balance as a hand reached tentatively for the other man. “Like this.”

Slender fingers brushed the hem of Anders' shirt before slipping underneath the fabric, tracing the line of his hips upward and finding his waist. His forehead rested against the mage’s while his damnable hat shadowed them both. His brow was pulled taut in concentration as he leaned heavily on the arm that wasn’t currently roving Anders' front side, finding the bumps and curves of every curious muscle and bone it touched as it fluttered lightly over his skin. 

“You touch my face, sometimes, or my arm, and I like it,” he murmured, voice low in its proximity to the other man. “Can you-- can you touch me like this, too?”

A soft gasp escaped the mage, Anders’ voice mingling with the otherworldly quality of Justice’s. His glowing eyes closed briefly and his hand settled on Cole’s arm but not to stop him -- the long fingers merely wrapped around the frail wrist loosely. 

“Oh. Oh dear, I was not expecting this so soon...” he breathed, pleasure coiling in his gut. “But if that is what you’d like my star… I’m not going to deny you. I’m not going to second-guess it either, since we’ve talked about it. Would you like to take off my clothes, or me to take off yours, or both…? There’s a difference.” Laughter hid behind the words, and his smile was playful. A few very pleasant images flashed across his mind, and Justice didn’t bother hiding them. There was no point anymore. 

Cole paused for a moment -- perhaps skimming the pictures surfacing in Anders' mind, or perhaps considering the question very carefully-- before he drew away slightly, his hand finally pulling from the other man’s body as he looked down at his own.

“Take off my clothes,” he repeated, as if it were an idea he had not ever considered. And, well, maybe it wasn’t. He was quiet for a moment, looking puzzled, before he glanced back up at Anders earnestly.

“Can… you take them off? They aren’t listening to me.”

Anders laughed, the tension easing in him a little. Cole’s way of seeing the world was certainly unique.

“ _Things don’t obey your will when you’re not in the Fade, little brother,”_ Justice pointed out. _“Here, everything is quite stubborn. But you know that, you just forget it at times, and it’s fine.”_

There was no telling whose clothes Cole actually meant and Anders didn’t feel like asking. He removed the hat and placed it aside, loosened the boy’s belt and let it slip to the floor then took one pale hand and slipped his fingertips underneath the glove, tickling Cole’s palm lightly; then he pried the glove off slowly. 

“Would you help me take off my shirt?” He asked quietly as he worked off the other glove, kissing the boy’s palm afterwards. 

“ _And off with the shoes and boots, too,_ ” Justice quipped in. “ _This is a quality establishment, don’t dirty the sheets._ ”

“At least not that way,” Anders added.

“I’ll... try,” Cole nodded, running his fingers over his own exposed palms, likely feeling them bare for the first time in a long time. He considered Anders' shirt briefly, then slipped both hands under its hem, fabric shifting between fingers as he tried to reason out how to remove the damn thing. Whether it was through human logic or spirit mind--reading, he finally gripped the edge of the man’s shirt and pulled it up, exposing the skin beneath to the cool air of the room. The boy had a bit of trouble tugging the thing over Anders’ head, something the mage was all too happy to gently aid in, and soon Cole was smiling triumphantly at the bare-chested man.

“It came off,” he said brightly, the shirt falling from his interest and his hands as he quickly set to work attempting to remove his shoes with similar techniques, as per Justice’s suggestion. “There’s so many things to take off.”

For some reason, Anders was sure he didn’t just mean the garments. He made short work on his own boots, then scooted back on the bed, eager to have Cole with him up there. He was still prepared to stop anything at the slightest hint of discomfort, but damn-- He would have loved to have that thin body in his arms, without barriers to separate their skin. 

He wasn’t the only one. Justice was waiting, pulsing with curiosity and anticipation, eager to experience more of this curious secret. Spirits were never subjected to this type of physical contact. Or most kinds of physical contact, actually. 

Cole finally managed to rid himself of his shoes and was quick to join Anders further up the mattress once the apparent formality was taken care of. His eyes were bright and curious, an excited smile dancing on his lips as he pulled his legs up to rest on his knees before the mage.

“Does it feel different-- to have someone else take your shirt off? Someone that isn’t you?” he asked inquisitively, leaning forward to rest his palms gently on the other man’s legs idly. “Can you-- can you take _mine_ off?”

“Gladly,” Anders nodded. “It might answer your question, too… It does feel different to be undressed. There’s no hurry, though.” He leaned closer, to brush his lips against Cole’s, almost aching for the contact. There was no tongue yet, merely innocent tasting, teasing, while his hands encircled the boy’s impossibly slender waist and moved there in slow circles before beginning their journey, up over the ribs and the back, then down over the firm rear, to gently squeeze the well-developed muscle mass. 

The kisses were brief but rained on Cole’s mouth in a peaceful rhythm, Anders moaning into them softly. It was so good to finally have warm flesh underneath his hands.

“ _Will you do the same to me?_ ” Justice inquired. “ _If I get a body, too?_ ”

“This and much more…” Anders promised. “Oh Justice… I want you to kiss me until I pass out!”

His attention never left the boy though; Anders slipped his hands underneath the worn shirt, to trace muscles and bones, the same way Cole had done earlier. Curiously, he rolled the nipples, to see if that got a response.

And it certainly did; Cole gasped softly, the eyes that had closed in the hypnotic daze of Anders' kisses and ghosting touches fluttering open at the stimulation. Puzzlement crossed his face briefly before it melted into wonder.

“Why?” he pondered aloud, though he apparently did not to seek an answer, if his needy bid to capture Anders' lips again were any indication. The boy seemed to relish in the feeling of their kisses, light and soft and many. With one arm supporting him, the other hand resumed its exploration of the man’s warm skin, slipping briefly behind him to run up the length of his spine like a river, quick and fleeting, before it traced back to his front to circle one of Anders' nipples curiously.

“Is it-- for you, too…?” he murmured against the mage’s lips.

“Yes…” Anders breathed, shuddering from pleasure. “Everybody has spots on their bodies where touch feels… better. We can find them all.” He grabbed the fabric of Cole’s shirt and tugged it upwards. “Lift your arms, my star, let’s get this out of the way… then we can continue. There’s so much I’d like to show you...” He was already aroused, his erection straining against his pants. 

The act met no resistance from Cole, who obediently lifted his arms and let the patchwork garment slip over his head, messing his already messy hair. His body was as slender and pale as one might expect, dotted with dusty dull birthmarks, but muscles coiled and quivered underneath as the cold air met his skin. He was certainly not as frail as one might believe.

Nor was he shy; as soon as he was free from the tangle of fabric, Cole pulled himself close to Anders again, eager to feel skin against skin. Perhaps a bit _too_ eager, as his balance faltered and with a sharp breath he tumbled forward against the other man, arm wrapping around him in a desperate grab for support. The grip soon relaxed, though, as did the boy’s body against Anders', close and warm.

“Sorry,” the boy laughed softly against his chest. “I-- I like this. Your skin against mine. I want to feel... _more_.”

“I’m definitely not protesting,” Anders whispered and letting go of his own restrains, he wound his arms around the boy tightly and began to kiss him, wherever he could reach with more passion. He nibbled on the pale column of his neck, feeling the veins pulsing with blood under the skin; kissed along the collarbone, flicked the nipples with his tongue then returned to Cole’s mouth and proceeded to devour it. With a few half-formed thoughts, Justice was put on watch, allowed to do anything necessary to stop Anders if Cole expressed discomfort, but he got too lost to realize. With the safety measures in place, the mage could finally relax. 

One hand slipped underneath the waistline of the boy’s pants on the back, to chop a feel; the other squeezed a thigh, close to the goal but not there yet. Breaking a heated kiss, Anders peered at the boy. “How do you feel, my star?” 

Cole had been all too eager to lose himself in Anders' movements, his own arms wrapped around the mage’s body. When Anders pulled away, it was to a flushed, heavily-lidded boy, blue eyes foggy in the heady air of desire that surrounded them. 

“I-- I feel… burning-- boiling in the belly, a fire inside and… a-and I want more. Coiling, crawling, crowding out thoughts-- hard to hear, hard to think-- I want… I _want_ …”

It was his turn to litter kisses over the other man’s body, tasting, testing-- perhaps emboldened by Anders' own rovings. Cole’s tongue lapped curiously at the crook of his neck, at the curve of his shoulder, at the hardened peak of his nipple, before his mouth trailed downwards, hand sliding along Anders' side as hot breath traced a path down the man’s front. The boy’s tongue flicked curiously at the dip of his belly button before he paused suddenly, withdrawing with a small “ _ah_ ” of understanding to meet eyes with Anders again.

“Kindling catches, crackles-- I-- I think I understand now. I’m-- It’s-- like you. Here,” Slender fingers traced the edge of Andrers’ belt, curling loosely on the metal buckle that strained above the bulge in his pants. “ _Growing_ \-- a fire in a dry forest. I--I feel it there, burning, gnawing, not in my belly but… close. Waves of wanting-- wanting what?” 

“Completion, pleasure...” Anders murmured. “It’s hard to explain. It just feels good, doesn’t it? And it’s supposed to feel better and better until the point when it feels so good that it almost hurts-- That’s what your body is asking for. You’re beautiful, Cole.” He undid the belt and opened the pants, sighing with relief.

“You do this to me, and I love it.” He cautiously placed a hand on the front of the boy’s leather pants, cupping the treasure hiding beneath. “Is this where it burns?”

The sharp breath at Anders' touch was as indicative of the answer as the half--hard bulge that met his fingers under the leather. 

“Y--yes,” Cole stammered, nodding. “It’s-- strange. I don’t tell it to change, but it does, when you kiss me. Or-- when you touch me. Tugging, tickling, taking blood when the blood runs hot. The body acts on its own. But... I don’t think I mind. It-- it does feel good.”

He leaned forward, his own fingers dancing over where the buckle was moments before. He traced along the taut fabric where Anders' erection strained against his underwear, following the curve of the organ with a light, fleeting stroke before his hand opened gently to rest around it curiously. A tiny smile, almost _mischievous_ , tugged at his mouth.

“I-- I want to make you feel good too, Anders.”

“Thank you, that’s a relief,” Anders chuckled, his hips bucking into the touch. “Let’s not waste time then -- get out of those pants, my star.” He proceeded to squirm out of his remaining clothes and-- he blushed a little, feeling oddly self-conscious about his nakedness. It’s been a while he last felt like that. He was rather proud of his body; the hardships never let him grow soft. He only had a few smaller scars, faded white lines against his light skin. His arms and lower legs were lightly dusted with red-gold hairs, just the right amount framing his manhood as well. And a plethora of birthmarks, everywhere. Back in the days when they managed to steal a few quiet moments, Karl used to drag his fingertip from one to another, finding constellations over his younger lover’s body.

Anders watched Cole fumbling with his garments and swallowed. He wanted that boy, so much. Not with a sharp, blinding need but with warm affection. To think that he’ll be the first to behold that lean naked body, watch as it flushed from desire, guide him through his very first orgasm… It was an honor. 

“ _I’m getting jealous again,_ ” Justice murmured, curling ghost-arms around Anders’ middle. “ _But at the same time, I’m glad you have someone to touch._ ”

“Don’t worry,” Anders smiled. “Your first time will be mine as well. We’ll make love, I’ll find all your sweet spots and exploit them until you come… and then, I’ll be yours to do with as you please.”

“ _Pull your hair and slap your rear? Pretend I’m a templar, seeking to force myself on a Circle mage? I can’t see the appeal of the latter. That’s the very thing we--_ ”

“I know, I know. But I can’t help it. Besides, it’d be a game of pretend -- I’d never let a templar take me like that but if it’s you, it’s not degrading or damaging… it’d be exciting. I want you to command me, to make me obey… Nnh, Justice…!” Anders gasped and shook his head to clear it. While he was looking forward to finally meet his companion in -- flesh and blood -- person, this was not the time to fantasize, and possibly spoil Cole’s first intimate encounter. 

Cole had been, this entire time, wrestling with those damn tight leather pants, which wholly made up for their visual appeal with their impracticality. How he even managed to get them on was a grand mystery that might well have involved some kind of spirit magic. At long last, though, the boy finally managed to free himself from the garment, slipping leather and fabric both over his bony hips and down to pool at his knees. He was a stark contrast to Anders in his body, pale and slender, with prominent bones despite the musculature that ran along them. He had remarkably few scars-- perhaps despite the neglect of the body that inspired its form, or perhaps as one final act of kindness to the boy whose memory it preserved. 

He wriggled out of the pants with relative ease after his battle with loosening them, and he hovered now over Anders, an arm on each side of the other man, bright eyes reading his body like a map, trailing downward and lingering on the new territory revealed to him. The intensity of his gaze might have been unsettling were it not so curious. 

“You have a lot of thoughts,” he laughed softly. “Waiting, wanting, wishing for more-- for Justice-- for me. I don’t know which to-- what should I do, Anders?”

“Never mind those thoughts, my star,” the mage smiled. “If there’s something you’d like to do or try, by all means, do it! Just go on slow, and if, perchance, I don’t like it, I’ll tell. But if you’re overwhelmed by the possibilities, I can take the lead.” He smoothed his hands over the boy’s shoulders and ran them along the slender but strong arms. 

“You’re a gorgeous young thing, Cole. That poor boy-- in the Spire would be proud to see you.”

The statement seemed to have an unexpectedly profound impact on the boy, who exhaled slowly before his arms circled around Anders' shoulders.

“Thank you,” he said softly, leaning in to kiss the other man again. Cole could never seem to get enough of them. His chest pressed against Anders’ as he closed more and more of the distance between them, his knees settling between the mage’s legs.

“I just-- want to feel you,” the boy spoke through the kiss, his lips still pressed against Anders' even as they moved. “A touch with bodies instead of hands-- but also hands, too. And lips. All around, warm and safe and soft and-- and hard, in some places-- a- _ah!_ ”

Cole gasped, pulling back to look down at the sudden source of his surprise. In his apparent quest to remove any open air between them, his hips had nudged intimately close to the mage’s, his slow-growing erection rubbing lengths unexpectedly with Anders' manhood, twitching involuntarily at the rush of sensation. The boy swallowed, as if steeling himself for some great task, then moved forward again experimentally, his breath stuttering slightly.

“A-Anders, it’s-- a-and yours--”

Fingertips faintly smelling of elfroot sealed his lips. Anders chuckled. “Don’t say it. There’s no need. You don’t always have to put everything into words. Sometimes it’s better to just feel… and act.” He let out a shaky breath. 

“It feels good, yes. You can continue, it’s going to feel even better. I told you that a human body works well on its own-- if you listen to it, you’ll understand it better.” He placed his hands on Cole’s waist and tugged him forward gently. 

“Please move, my star. You feel so nice against me.”

How long could Cole go without voicing his thoughts? Probably not terribly long, but the boy nodded, silencing himself with another taste of Anders' lips. His hips moved, awkward at first, as his legs shifted and tangled with the mage’s-- his body might have known what it wanted, but he hadn’t quite mastered the art of letting it lead him. If the growing hardness that caressed Anders' own erection was any indication, however, he was getting better at it.

Blue eyes grew lidded and eventually closed entirely, Cole’s breath hitching and uneven through parted lips as he hovered over the other man, hands on his shoulders. His pale cheeks were flushed brightly and only growing deeper in hue, the tint creeping over the whole of his slim body as his hips rolled against Anders' gently. The movement was slow, _painfully_ slow, but growing more fluid as the boy relinquished himself to his body’s urgings.

Anders in turn busied himself with peppering kisses over skin he could reach. His hands also roamed, mapping up curves and angles, sometimes resting briefly to simply feel Cole move underneath them. The pace was maddening, but even after so long, the simple fact that there was no need to hurry, that no-one was going to interrupt and deal out punishment made it worth to bear. 

And just watching Cole getting more and more comfortable was a delight in itself. It looked like the boy had no problems dealing with pleasure and Anders’ worries eased further. He would have honestly hated to scare this precious creature, wound him with some selfish act. 

Beneath the surface, Justice shuddered from the sensations he was able to feel as well. It was definitely new, having someone else so close instead of relying on self-stimulation, and the older spirit was starting to see the merit in this weird mortal tradition. He gently took control now and then, tugging subtly on Anders’ body for a kiss or touch, with the mage’s full consent. Yes, this was rather enjoyable. 

Cole seemed just as happy to accept advances from Justice as from Anders, responding to his touches with pleasant little sounds and the tug of smiles at his lips. His pace slowed to a stop as he leaned forward to nuzzle into Anders' neck, pushing gently until they were laying down against the mattress, the boy draped over him lazily. Hot breath tickled against the mage’s throat as Cole laughed softly.

“So close, like this,” he murmured in a low drawl, a hand tracing down Anders side. He seemed almost intoxicated by the new sensations, voice and eyes unfocused as the trailing hand slipped between their bodies to run through the curly mess of red-blonde hair between the man’s thighs. Pale fingers slid curiously against the hot, flushed skin of Anders' member, the boy’s body wriggling slightly to allow him to room to wrap his hand lightly around its length.

“You liked it-- when Justice touched here. Teasing, tantalizing-- tight and tugging. I want-- would you touch me here, too?”

“Of course…” Anders took slow, long, deep breaths, that shuddered when he was fondled. Heat was rising in him, consuming his mind; his thoughts got clouded with lust, bleaching out pretty much everything else aside Cole, Justice and all the glorious possibilities. For now, he just reached out and curled his long fingers around the boy’s flushed erection with the same caution one handles something precious and fragile with. 

“You have never touched yourself here, right?” he questioned quietly, his heart beating faster. “Such a beautiful virgin body… I’m-- humbled.” He also wanted to taste Cole so badly, take him into his mouth and lick and suck until the boy keened from pleasure and came down his throat… Anders loved to use his mouth and he was good with doing it; barely any gag reflex was a bliss. Would Cole taste much different than a human? Was he even able to produce semen? He bled, so most probably yes… Anders internally berated himself. Pondering about arcane lore, no matter how new and exciting it was, did not belong to the bed shared with an eager partner.

The boy’s breath had stuttered at the touch, his own grip around Anders' length tightening reflexively as his hips nudged forward into Anders' grasp. At least one of the mage’s questions seemed to be answered, if the little bead of precum that met his careful fingers was any indication.

“N-never,” he breathed, voice distant. His lidded eyes, covered in bangs messed even more than usual, pulled up to meet Anders', a small laugh escaping him.

“Y-you want to-- in your mind, tongue tasting, testing, twirling around. Like-- like a kiss?” He shifted again against the man’s palm, a shuddering sigh falling from his parted lips at the sensation. “I-- I _do_ like when you kiss me, Anders.”

“No point in denying it from you then…” Anders licked his lips and took his hand away, shifting into a more comfortable position, until he was reclining against well-stuffed pillows, half-sitting, half-laying on the bed. 

“Now my star, come straddle me. Yes, like that…. a little closer, like this. Now, stand on your knees-- and grab the headboard for support. You’ll need it if I haven’t lost my touch.” Cole was standing above him now, ever the obedient little thing, and beautiful too, so very beautiful. Anders’ chest ached. Not to mention his lower body. 

He ran a hand over Cole’s long thighs, then his fingers curled around the handsome erection. He opened his mouth and ran his tongue over the weeping slit on the tip, lapping up the pearly drop of wetness. There was barely any taste, and Anders belatedly realized that Cole didn’t really have a scent, either. Just the faint aroma of leather lingered on his skin and something… warm. It definitely wasn’t unpleasant. So he continued, tongue sliding along the vein on the underside of the shaft, lips pressing against the heated flesh gently in sloppy kisses, fingers tugging on the foreskin, aiming to deliver the maximum amount of pleasure. 

“H--ha-- _ah_ \--!” Cole leaned heavily on the headboard, unable to contain the sounds that tumbled freely from his parted lips as Anders danced his own along the boy’s length. It was almost hard to believe such a body had been created by a spirit, so true were its details-- the flush and folds of his pale foreskin, the thin blonde hairs that trailed between his thighs, the rapid rising and falling of his chest as he panted… they were all real, so very real, and seeming more so than ever in their current exposed state.

His face was tense, eyes shut tightly as he arched over Anders, taking in all the new sensations being lavished upon him. It didn’t seem the boy would last much longer at this rate, his breath quickening, the small noises escaping him growing more urgent--

But suddenly his eyes shot open, and with a swallowed gasp he pulled back from Anders, tumbling backwards to land unsteadily between the mage’s legs (and, quite mercifully, not a scant few inches closer). The unfocused haze that had settled over him seemed gone, replaced by all--too--vibrant confusion-- and fear. He looked down from beneath sweat--matted bangs at the hard, wet organ between his legs as if it may try to leap up and kill him.

“I-- I--I…” Cole looked up to Anders as he tried to explain, words seeming to come even harder to him than usual. “I-it’s not you, it’s… no malice, n-no harm meant, but I’m worried-- I--I’m scared that…”

He took a shaky breath, then attempted a different explanation. “Pleasure... pulls, pounds in my ears like blood and I can’t hear anything else above it. Roaring, rearing, the fire grows, brighter, brighter-- burning me up, consuming me, I--I can’t-- I can’t think of anything else but… but more. Wanting more. Wanting. _Wanting_. I sh-shouldn’t want. Wanting is… a demon wants. A-and-- so-- w-what if I-- what if this makes me--”

He looked genuinely fearful at the prospect.

Anders’ heart nearly stopped when Cole pulled away. He immediately sat up and reached out, grabbing the shaking shoulders then cradling the flushed face between his hands. Thankfully, he managed to solve the verbal puzzle quite quickly, with Justice chiming in, reminding him of things said earlier. 

“You’re-- worried that lust will turn you into a demon…?” While there could be a small chance of it being true, Anders doubted that pleasure alone could achieve that. Especially in moderation.

“My star… Cole, my lovely, don’t worry about it! It’s just your body speaking. It’s your body that wants this, and it can be loud, I know. But you just stopped, you just opposed it, didn’t you? The body craves pleasure, but what the soul craves, is love. Do you still love me, and Justice? Do you still want to make me feel good? Do you still want to help others?” His thumb brushed against the boy’s cheek. 

“Until there is something else inside than just want, the yearning for one single thing, then it’s alright. Pleasure is powerful, demanding, but you can control it if you don’t want to succumb to its call. We can stop now if you’re too scared, and the want will cease. It’s going to be alright.” 

The man’s soothing voice seemed to calm the boy down a bit, Cole’s own hands coming to rest on the ones that cradled his face as if to assure himself of their realness.

“I…” He exhaled slowly, his breath stabilizing. “I understand. I think. They’re connected, threads in fabric-- body and mind-- tug on one and it pulls the other, pushes it closer to the other side. I… don’t tell my body to do this, but it does, but it’s-- when _you_ touch me. Not someone else. Because… you’re kind, and gentle, and you care and I…”

He leaned forward, a hand running along Anders' arm before dropping between the man’s legs again, circling his erection with greater confidence. His touch was still unpracticed, uncertain, but his fingers sought in earnest the same spots Anders had hit with his tongue on the boy moments earlier.

“I do want to make you feel good, Anders. Like-- like you made me feel. Make me feel. I-- I think I’m alright. Just let me…” The words got caught in a little laugh. “Let me help _you_ , first.”

Anders didn’t waste more words, merely nodded and laid back comfortably, wiggling a little to find the perfect spot to relax. He exhaled slowly, let his hands rest next to his head and spread his thighs a little, offering himself for anything the boy had in mind. 

“I’m yours for the taking,” he whispered with a small smile. His erection didn’t falter much, and the careful touch stirred it back to fullness. Cole’s suggestion had merit; the boy would probably take time to recover after the wonderful shock while Anders, even if he didn’t possess the legendary Warden stamina any longer, would be able to tend to Cole, even after receiving his fair share of pleasure.

The respite from overwhelming sensations seemed to put the boy back into a more lucid state of mind, his hand working up and down Anders' shaft with inquisitive strokes. His bright eyes flicked across the man’s face as he tugged and tested, likely searching expression and mind both for hints of pleasure or discomfort. His fingers tightened, then splayed, then tightened again, following veins and creases like the roads on a map.

“Like waves on the beach,” he murmured, incapable of staying quiet for too long. “Back and forth in the sand, tracing patterns, lapping at the shore like wanting laps at your mind. Hot and sticky in the air while a storm builds in the ocean, winding tight in your belly, pressure and pleasure building-- it grows in the ocean and the waves come faster, faster--”

A smile crossed Cole’s lips as his pace quickened, his expression and movements growing bolder. Pale fingers circled the head of his erection, running along the perimeter, finding nerves exposed from under the foreskin with a surprising deftness before slipping down again to rub along his shaft. What mischievous tricks was he picking up from Anders' mind?

Not that the mage minded. And Justice had no objections either. So completely relaxed and open, the two of them mingled easily sharing the same body at the same time, both of them feeling the impulses that the clever touches ignited. Anders' back arched and his head tipped back, eyes closing in bliss. He was breathing deeply, an occasional moan escaping him, voice carrying an echo of the Fade. “You’re doing so well, my star… Please keep up--” the breathy praise ended in a shuddering gasp as Cole found a particularly sensitive spot. Anders reached back, curling his arms around the pillow and grabbing it tight. Justice experimentally reached out with careful ghost-fingers to pinch the nipples and he was stunned to figure out that he could actually feel it as well. 

“Justice, no, leave that--” Anders pleaded with the barest alarm. “Let Cole do it.” The spirit obeyed, settling back but a wave of smugness left no doubt that he wasn’t concerned about becoming a demon at the slightest.

“Yes-- just like he used to do.” Cole’s steady pace faltered briefly as he shifted his weight, but quickly picked up again as he balanced once more, his free hand running up Anders' stomach before seeking out one of the hardened nipples, rolling the tiny peak between his fingers deftly. Whatever thoughts he might be reading, he was reading them pretty damn well. 

“Storm coming in off the shore, clouds full of wanting, ready to burst-- blue under the skin, a lazy liquid lightning, shared spaces where the burn is brightest-- I like the noises you make, Anders.”

His words had an odd rhythm, falling into beat with the strokes he worked along Anders' length, an entirely surreal union of the boy’s strange mannerisms and the determination with which he now tightened his grip around the man’s erection. His fingers were dampened with the precum they had coaxed from the flushed organ, but Cole was either unaware or uncaring. His lips brushed Anders' briefly, chasing the ghosts of past kisses over them, before he pulled back again, chasing instead the growing fire he was kindling-- and duly narrating-- between the mage’s legs. He _was_ helping, after all.

His ministrations coaxed more lovely sounds from Anders. He writhed under the sweet tension Cole’s tender care raised steadily; he was always quite vocal and he certainly wasn’t holding back now. Gasps, heavy panting and soft moans filled the heated air; some of them belonged to Justice. Anders’ body tensed tighter by the minute, muscles pulled taut like a bowstring as the peak drew near. The boy’s name was like a mantra spilling from his lips, strung into a song with endearments and begging for more. His skin shone in the candlelight, a sheen of sweat covering it, expression almost painful.

The spirit inside rippled, squirmed, and spread out, his presence filling up Anders, crawling under skin, flooding every cavity almost tangibly. It was like back then right after their joining and it merely added to the escalating pressure that came closer and closer to bursting. Anders was almost sobbing, it was too much, _too much_ \--

And suddenly it burst, crashing down on him like a cave collapsing on the Deep Roads. Anders arched up from the bed and cried out, coming harder than ever before. His seed spilled over his stomach, drenching Cole’s hand and the intensity bleached his mind of thought for a few moments.

He collapsed in a twitching, boneless heap, jaw slack and eyes vacant, gulping down air. Justice was in a similar state, knocked out by the powerful new experience.

Cole breathed in sharply as the climax washed over Anders' and Justice’s minds both, the sheer force of the sensation seeming to hit him like the recoil on a powerful spell. He was still for a while, silence lingering but for the heavy breaths that cut through it, his hand still grasped firmly around the sensitive organ that twitched and pulsed in his grip. Slowly, though, his fingers slid from the slick member they had so eagerly encircled. The boy looked down at the glistening coating curiously, but his attention turned quickly to the other man, limp and quiet as he was.

“... Anders?” he said softly, the hand on the man’s chest moving gently upward to stroke along his face, mimicking the motion he had so often felt against his own. “And Justice-- are you… was it alright? Your thoughts are… blank, blotted by brightness.”

“I-- I’m fine…” Anders breathed, leaning into the touch. “That was-- Maker. I should have known better than let myself be possessed by _two_ spirits.” He tried to struggle up but his limbs were still shaking. “I need a minute. I-- I don’t think I’ve ever experienced an orgasm like this.” He tugged on Cole gently. “Come my star, let’s cuddle for a little while.” He loved that at least as much as the actual sex. 

He briefly turned his attention inwards, to check on Justice and he couldn’t stifle an amused chuckle. “You hear that? He’s purring like a cat.”

“ _You could say I’m… catisfied_ ,” Justice rumbled softly, lazily. Anders pressed a hand against his face and his whole body shook with laughter.

“I didn’t possess you,” Cole protested, though he moved closer to the man regardless, the drenched hand hovering awkwardly before being wiped rather unceremoniously on the edge of the wrinkled blanket they had thoroughly twisted and tangled beneath them. Well. Guess they knew which side was his now. 

He rested easily against Anders' chest, sighing contentedly; cuddles were something the boy seemed entirely alright with. Even as his own erection, still hard from the earlier assault of sensations on it, pressed hot against the mage’s thigh, there was little urgency in his movements. Whatever control the boy had lost earlier, it seemed regained-- for the moment, at least.

“Maybe you should have a cat body instead of a human body,” Cole suggested to the other spirit. “Anders likes cats as much as long hair. Maybe more?”

Was it an earnest suggestion or another joke…? It was impossible to tell with the odd boy.

Justice snorted and Anders appeared to be mulling over the problem. “Naah. Even I have limits, and I draw them at giving an Orlaisian kiss to a cat. If Justice had possessed Ser Pounce… We might not be here. It could have been easier I suppose.” He gave an actual effort to think it over. “Then again, maybe not. I don’t really want to dwell on that at the moment.” He sighed and lightly caressed Cole’s shoulder. 

“You did splendidly, my star.” He kissed the top of the blond head. “I enjoyed every moment. You’ve peeked at my memories though, right? You did rather well for one who has no experience whatsoever. Not that I mind.”

“Yes,” he admitted, his arms circling loosely around the other man’s shoulders. “I-- didn’t want to hurt you by accident, or make you feel bad. But you remember times from before, still, in your mind and on your skin. I can trace them there-- like footprints in the sand, trails where the touch was the best, the brightest-- like here.”

His lips dipped down to ghost lightly along the curve of Anders' neck, hot breath tickling the soft skin there.

“She did that, once, the girl in the Rose. You really liked it. Your body remembered.” Cole smiled, tucking his head underneath the mage’s. It looked like he’d have _two_ cats to deal with. “I’m glad it does-- it helps me help you. I didn’t know there was so much to feel. So many little motions that make you shiver, make you shine with songs under the skin. How do people know them all?”

“They learn,” Anders shuddered pleasantly, melting into the soft mattress and Cole’s embrace both. “You reach an age when love starts to interest you and you start experimenting… awkward at first, messy, trial-and-error. But if you listen, you’ll learn what makes others feel good and you learn something new with every partner.” He shrugged. “That’s what humans do, anyway. You have the advantage of mindreading, so… you could be the best lover of Thedas. You’d always know what your partner wants, what makes them-- sing.” 

Cole considered the idea for a moment.

“Maybe,” he finally concluded. “I can hear the wanting, wishing for release-- I have before, but-- I never thought to try to help myself. A whispered word of courage to a silent admirer, or a little reassurance to someone with sharp shards of shame on the doorstep of a brothel house… but to help them with _my_ hands, they would have to see me, and that--”

The idea didn’t seem to sit well with the boy, who tightened his hold on Anders with a sigh. His tone turned a bit sheepish. “It’s… also harder to hear, when my body-- when it’s loud. You made it sing for you, Anders, when you touched me. Even now…”

His erection nudged the mage’s thigh as Cole’s legs shifted to tangle comfortably with Anders', eliciting a sharp breath and then a laugh from the boy.

“It’s quieter, but still there. Pleasure hums, but not too loud-- not like earlier. I couldn’t hear you, and it scared me. I didn’t want to hurt you-- I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone, if it happened again. But-- but _you_ would stop me, Anders-- Justice-- if I did?” He pulled up to meet the mage’s eyes again. “If I’m with you, then-- then it’s not as frightening, I think, to be so loud.”

“It really depends on the lover,” Anders mused, carefully tucking blond strands of hair behind Cole’s ears. “It’s not always as good with strangers-- it can be, on occasion, but it’s quite different with someone you care about. It’s always loud but it can get much louder when the other is someone you love. However, you shouldn’t worry that much. It’s not that easy to hurt your partner, especially if you don’t intend to. A rougher thrust, nails digging into skin, fingertips leaving bruises? They’re considered accidents that happen when sex is really good.” He chuckled. ”By the time you are so gone that you can’t hear anything else over the noise of your own rushing blood, if you were doing well, chances are that your partner won’t even notice a little pain. It can even heighten the experience and well… some don’t mind even a little more pain.” He kissed the tip of the boy’s nose. “Thousands of people experience the height of pleasure every night all over Thedas, and they end up fine, satisfied, snuggling with their lovers. Even if you lose yourself a little in pleasure for a few minutes, you’ll be alright. I think I should mention that you don’t _need_ to practice the physical side of love. Some people simply don’t feel the need, and it works for them. So definitely don’t feel pressed, and do say no if someone proposes but you don’t feel like it.”

Cole nodded, his face scrunched up in humorously deep consideration. To have to learn and memorize the nuances of human interaction, especially those of such complex situations, must have been daunting indeed for someone with such an alien viewpoint. The boy seemed willing and able to learn, at least-- and he had certainly learned quite a bit in his short time with the mage. "People are all very different," he stated, as if it needed stating. "What heals one may hurt another. I understand-- but I don't know if I could hurt someone, even if it's what they wanted. Nails in the skin, sowing fields of raised red wishes-- cruel words whispered through twisted hair in a grapple, a grip-- _a little mage, out after his curfew_ \-- there's fear, and sadness, but it makes it brighter, better... why?"

“Ahem.” Anders’ face flushed lightly and he could _feel_ Justice leaning on his elbows and propping his chin on his hands, listening eagerly. “I, uh. It’s… weird, yes. You wouldn’t think I’d like anyone to-- subject me to the same treatment I wanted to avoid in the Circles. I’m-- not even sure myself why it holds an appeal… The human mind works in strange ways. Once I dreamed about it, you know? A templar caught me on the corridor and he shoved me against the wall and-- I don’t even remember that clearly, but I woke up aroused and I wanted to punch myself for it. 

“Maybe… it’s a way of dealing with it. Imagining it and finding pleasure in it, because when it’s my mind, it’s safe. I don’t get hurt. If it were to happen in real life, I’d hurl and entire thunderstorm against the bastard but when a lover acts it out, it’s different. The pain indeed heightens the pleasure and there’s this-- feeling of security deep inside. I-- I do feel scared when they raise their hands and I struggle against their hold but somewhere in the back of my mind, there’s this little voice reminding me that it’s alright, that it’s not meant to hurt me and that I do want this and I can stop this. The templars in general just want to hurt you, break you when they make advances, they want to see you cry and feel ashamed and becoming broken, a good little mage, an obedient slave… but my lovers don’t want that. They have different reasons, there’s trust and there’s love. It’s all a game of pretend.” 

Anders sighed deeply. “I’m not sure I can give you a better explanation. It is confusing, even to me but it’s how I am. I’m not hurting anybody, and it doesn’t hurt me-- not too bad at least.” He shrugged and caressed Cole’s head. “It’s not for everyone, and I understand you don’t see the appeal. It’s fine; you can’t make everybody happy, but, you might be able to find them someone who could.”

"Yes," the boy laughed a little, leaning into Anders' gentle touch. "I can find them someone kind, someone who wouldn't want real hurt. It's-- still a little hard to understand, but thank you for explaining it." Cole rested against the man for a moment, head leaning on his shoulder and arms coiled loosely around his figure. The boy didn't seem capable of staying still for too long, though, giving an almost frustrated huff of a sigh as one of his hands slipped down between them again to circle tentatively his own pale-skinned member. His breath caught as he fumbled with it, fingers pulling at the foreskin curiously, lacking the lingering memories that had guided him so easily over Anders' length. "I can't-- relax," Cole mumbled, sounding nearly embarrassed-- likely more at the lack of control over his body than his inexperience with it. "The skin sings-- it wants, _still_ \-- I--I want it to relax, release-- a-- _ah_ \--" He faltered as his thumb brushed a sensitive spot, a shiver shaking his body against Anders' before he cautiously stroked again, careful but inquisitive. "I--it was easier-- to help you," he lamented, though a light smile tugged at his lips.

“Aah, let’s do this properly, then.” Anders recovered from the earlier shock, so he moved aside, gently pushing Cole into the warm spot where his body had been. “Just lie down and relax. Touch slowly, note the spots where it feels best. Apply pressure, more and more until it stops feeling good -- to gauge how much pressure you need to make it feel the best. Let the skin slide over the head -- it feels great for most.” His gaze swept over the lovely body, marveling at its beauty. 

“I think… You might not be that easy to arouse… You’re a spirit, after all. I just managed because you like me, there’s an emotional connection. So you aren’t likely to use this knowledge often, but there’s no telling where life will lead you… If you become more human, you might just find your body reacting more eagerly, and as you can see, a hard--on can be incredibly stubborn, refusing to go away on its own. If it doesn’t, you should stroke it away, because it gets uncomfortable and embarrassing after a while. Especially in those pants you favor.” He remembered how robes did a better job at hiding evidence. When you were a teenager, boiling with curiosity and also prepared to die any day and surrounded by peers who felt the same, things got heated more often than not. 

Cole nodded absently, fingers rubbing and running across his erection in exploratory strokes as he settled into the soft bedding opened for him. His grip tightened sometimes, but rarely lingered that way for long, loosening with a little gasp or noise of pleasure; as difficult as it may have been to arouse the boy, he still seemed easily overwhelmed by the sensations such a state brought on. His hand cautiously wrapped around his length fully, mimicking slowly the motions that had been _quite_ successful earlier. Lips parted to draw in a shaky breath as he stroked, his free hand curling around the bunched covers beneath him.

“Is it-- is it embarrassing?” he asked, his voice distant and distracted. It might have been a rather odd affair, trying to hold a conversation with the boy as he explored the more intimate functions of his body, but… well, few experiences _weren’t_ odd affairs with Cole.

“It’s embarrassing, when you’re in company and others notice,” Anders murmured, stretching out next to the boy and breathing a kiss on his freckled shoulder. “People get embarrassed. Generally, they get embarrassed about everything related to sex quite easily. Masturbating is considered something very private, so if you have to -- or want to -- do it, make sure you're alone... unless you're doing it on purpose, to get others into a heated mood. Lovers sometimes do it together... It's a lot safer than penetration, and watching the other performing such an intimate act can be really arousing. Also I can’t believe I’m ranting about it as if it’d be a lecture at the Circle, but it’s part of the thrill I guess.” He quietly laughed against Cole’s skin. “You’re beautiful, my star. I’m so glad I’m allowed to see you like this.” He took Cole’s free hand and kissed the knuckles.

“I like your voice,” Cole assured breathlessly. “I--I like hearing it, and I like when you’re-- when you’re close to me. Like this.” 

The hand that Anders brushed against his lips pulled away gently, fingers running along the mage’s jaw before weaving gently through his hair, tugging him closer. Lips touched lips-- briefly, lightly, like a butterfly lighting from flower to flower, but the little intimacies seemed quite impactful. The heat of his skin, the growing unevenness in his breathing, the sound of skin sliding against skin quickening between his legs-- the boy was as real as any other, here and now, desperate and needy and holding Anders as close as he could with his free hand.

“B--bared-- barriers broken-- broken down, s--slipped off, stripped-- stripped away--” His thoughts were a jumbled mess even as he tried to share them, lids heavy and eyes hazy as he filled the gaps in his speech with stolen kisses. “W-wanting-- wanting release, wanting-- y- _you_ \-- tangled-- tight-- A-Anders-- _Anders_ …!”

The name was almost a whimper, begging the man for something Cole likely didn’t have the words to request. Not that he needed them-- his lips crashed into the mage’s, the fingers in his long hair gripping far too tight as the boy’s whole body coiled taut, legs bracing, back arching--

And then he fell back to the pillow with a strangled cry as the tension finally snapped, hot seed spilling over his quivering midriff as the hand around his member released it, the sensations probably more than overwhelming without the added stimulation. The waves of pleasure that wracked him were obvious on his slender form, muscles shivering as he rode out his first orgasm, hands falling to limply grab at the covers beneath as if for support. His eyes were open but far, _far_ away.

The boy was a right mess.

A beautiful, hot, sexy mess and Anders squirmed with a bitten-off moan as he watched. The kisses, the fingers in his hair, pulling so deliciously, the noises, his name on those pink lips and the sight, it all assaulted him and made his blood course faster. Maybe there were traces of the Warden stamina left in his system, because he was aroused again, flushed, breathing quicker.

“Sweet Andraste, I’ve died and this is the Fade,” Anders muttered to himself. “And you’re a desire demon. So irresistible. I w-wish… I could have some more with you…” He swallowed and turned his attention inwards. “Justice?”

“ _At your service._ ” The low rumbling voice held a definite eagerness. “ _Would you like me to assist?_ ”

“Please. Please Justice, I don’t care-- Use all I have. All the tricks you got.” Anders climbed over Cole and shuddered as he felt Justice’s ghost-touches where he liked it best. “Please my star… j-just hold me, kiss me and-- grab my hair, please.” He leaned on his forearms, ass still in the air, like some beast in heat, but he was beyond caring.

It took Cole a moment to get back to the present, still in a daze even as his arms wrapped almost instinctively around the man atop him-- he didn’t even leap to defend himself against the demon comment. His eyes blinked a few times as he processed the desperate requests, but soon a small huff of breathless laughter escaped him and his hands trailed up to cradle Anders' head. The boy didn’t seem tired-- did spirits even _get_ tired?-- but if his rapid breathing was any indication, he was still recovering from the assault of raw sensations.

“Alright,” he murmured still, never one to pass up an opportunity to close the distance between them. His fingers laced through the man’s hair again, meeting the resistance of the band that held it there (rather loosely, at this point) before gently tugging it off completely, freeing Anders' messy locks to fall down around his shoulders. Cole smiled at the sight.

“You look different, like this-- but also the same.” It was a passing statement in the short journey of his mouth to Anders', their lips locking once more as Cole threaded through loose blonde strands, pulling them taut in his pale fists. Free from the throes of pleasure, he seemed hesitant to yank too hard, but his grip grew tighter as their kisses grew deeper, his tongue running lazily over Anders' as he lost himself in the moment just as easily as before. 

The mage shuddered and moaned, the sound swallowed up by Cole’s mouth. More noises, louder and desperate followed though as Justice gathered Anders’ magic to utilize it in a way that was seldom used anywhere in Thedas. He raced through the slender body, tweaking, tapping and teasing nerves, effectively tricking Anders’ brain to believe there was a sizable manhood penetrating him. 

Anders’ eyes flew open at the sensation -- it was all too real and _blight it_ , he missed that sweet, steady pressure. He could picture Justice’s dashing physical form kneeling behind him and pounding him just the way he liked, sliding in and out, hitting that miracle spot-- Anders yelped at the too-sharp pleasure.

“E-easy at the back, it’s not as good if you pound into it,” he gasped and exhaled as Justice sent an apologetic wave of warmth through him. The entire setup was, with all its weirdness, as good as it got -- not perfect, not like this, but Anders long learned to appreciate whatever nice things life threw him. He plunged his tongue into Cole’s mouth deeply then pulled away, offering his throat for the boy for kisses or bites, it didn’t matter. “ _I’m going to do this to you once I claim a body for myself,_ ” Justice murmured. “ _I won’t stop until you’re completely satisfied, and then I’ll keep doing it, because you’re so shamelessly deprived. I’m going to burn these urges, cleanse you with fire so you’d be purified, dedicated to the cause and nothing else… You’ll be Justice as well._ ”

That sounded ominous, and albeit Anders was sure that the spirit was just playing along, tugging on the submissive streak, it didn’t stop the shivers. It felt so damn good.

Cole’s mouth had found Anders' throat eagerly, lips trailing the pounding vein underneath up to his jaw before he tried something new. Hot breath was replaced by the warm, wet sensation of his tongue against Anders' skin, rough but slick, gliding along the curve of his jaw before lapping lightly at his earlobe, laughter tickling the now--damp skin.

“You taste good, Anders-- not just on your lips,” he rose to speak low in the man’s ear, his voice amused. “Like-- salt. And magic, and heat. … And Justice.”

His hands gripped tighter against the mage’s scalp as he pulled him down again into an eager kiss before Cole nuzzled again into his neck with a pleased sigh. “He’s inside you, pushing all around-- I can feel him, under your skin. Liquid lightning, burning blood to watch it grow brighter. Righteous flames that lick and lap, in and out and all over, a rhythm, a victory march-- he likes it when you shine, and sing-- for _him_ , for _his_ name. _Justice_.”

His voice dropped low as he spoke the name, a rumbling mimicry of Justice’s own voice.

The older spirit laughed, pleased rumble rolling through Anders. “ _That’s right. I like it when you say my name… Say it, Anders. Let me hear it on your lips, revered like the Chant of Light. Soon you’ll be mine and mine alone, the agent of my will, fire and ice that cleanses… I want to hear you scream my name…!_ ”

That was too much. Shit, Anders was going to miss the boy’s rambling, it was oddly comforting, enlightening… and on occasion, arousing. Anders squeezed his eyes shut, soft little cries escaping him with every ghost--thrust. And then, Justice saw it fit to add an invisible fist around his cock, and Anders began to spiral into oblivion rapidly.

“Justice!” he choked, wanting the torture to end and wishing it could last forever. “Justice, please, Justice-- _Justice_!!”

The orgasm bleached his mind and left him trembling and utterly spent. He could barely hold himself above the boy-- why was he even trying…? It had a reason… It took a couple of seconds to remember that he came all over Cole, so the boy was practically bathing in semen. A rather pleasant sight, actually. 

“W-we’ll clean up,” Anders struggled with all his might to stay awake, “then sleep. Oh Maker, sweet Andraste, I feel like I was caught up in the middle of the Blight…”

Justice chuckled, actually sounding a little weary himself. He used the last of the lingering mana to give a little boost to Anders, who crawled off Cole and placed a hand on the pale chest. “Stay. If you move, we’ll make a bigger mess.” He struggled to stand on wobbly legs and cautiously made his way toward the washbasin to fetch the rag. There was water in the jug, just what they needed. 

Cole was obedient, falling into the bedding again to lay still as Anders left to gather the means to clean the mess they’d made between them. Quite literally. His blue eyes lingered curiously on the rapidly-cooling lines of white that painted his pale body, Anders' crossing paths with his own, little pools gathering in the dips of his muscles like puddles-- a hand lifted to trace one sticky trail down to his belly button.

He looked up at Anders as he approached the bed again, raising his coated fingers inquisitively.

“It came out-- both times. And for me, too, but-- I didn’t tell it to.”

“A few things can and will do that,” Anders chuckled and carefully wiped the mess from the boy. “Human body shortcomings. Sex is for reproduction, so the seed comes out. You don’t want to hear about the rest.” He folded the rag and cleaned himself up as well, then deposited it back into the basin. After that, he all but collapsed on the bed. 

“Whatever questions you have, I’ll answer them in the morning, but we need-- _I_ need rest! You two evil spirits wore me thin.” First time in a good while, he didn’t reach for his beloved pillow. He was going to sleep like a log without its help. With the last of his strength, Anders somehow draped the blanket over themselves then closed his eyes with a sigh. “Goodnight, love. Goodnight, Cole.”

“Goodnight, Anders,” Cole murmured in return, settling in comfortably next to the man with a contented sigh. What remained of the candle was snuffed out in a tiny gust of magic, and night finally fell completely onto them, quiet and dark and safe as what remained of the late night crowd bustled softly below, an ebb and flow of quiet noise that was relaxing in its muted din, a wordless lullaby for the exhausted man and his two spirit companions with vivid new memories.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here, the story is safe again. Go ahead.

Despite how exhausted he had been, Anders rose in the morning easily; he felt refreshed, filled with new energy. After a quick wash and a plentiful breakfast, the little company set out into the city, to grab a few things for the road; including Anders’ new attire. The feathers from the old coat seemed to be just as resilient as their owner; while the tailor added them to his creation, they had time to see to other tasks.. 

Travel-suited food and a few various things found their way into the backpack. Justin had been most generous, and they weren’t going to spend the coin on tavern rooms anyway, so Anders was able to afford some herbs for his stash and even a new blanket, as the old one was worn thin already.

The tailor did his job well; Anders looked dashing in his new clothes. Back at the young couple’s house, he took care to trim his beard and wash his hair, so he looked like a respectable mage instead of a scruffy apostate. He even carried himself straighter, enjoying the feel of soft and clean fabrics against his skin. 

Thus equipped, the pair set off for Redcliffe, following the advice of Anders’s tavern friends, who seemed to have left long before he and Cole. Following the road out of town took them safely along until the city thinned into scattered farmland, and eventually into stretches of patchy woods and plains on the horizon. As the day wore on, however, it was… not entirely clear when they should leave the safety of the packed dirt trail that stretched before them. They were nearing the territory of the Hinterlands, surely-- that much was obvious in the increasingly untamed land, gathered into spotty fields of farmland here and there by worn-wood fences-- but where would they cut through? With civilization growing ever more distant behind them, the jump back into the wilderness would have to happen soon. 

Help would, once again, come to the pair in a rather unusual form-- the Maker must have felt unusually generous lately. A crossroads sat ahead of them, two smaller roads splitting from the main path and off into the woods around them-- likely smaller villages that survived off the land-- and an old, crooked signpost marking their point of convergence. Three people rested in the shade of the trees just off the road, their robes and resting staffs an immediate indication of their nature. As the pair approached, two of the mages tensed, rising hurriedly and defensively; they were young, both wide--eyed girls that looked still a bit too small for the likely Circle--issued robes they wore. Their companion rose as well, a man that looked to be slightly older than Anders, with dark and straight-cut hair. Most notable of his features, however, was the very obvious sunburst pattern emblazoned on his forehead.

“It doesn’t sing for him anymore,” Cole murmured quietly, an uncommon sadness in his voice.

“Hello, traveler,” the man hailed Anders, his voice as calm and clipped as any Tranquil’s. “I see you are a mage, like my two companions here. Perhaps you are going to Redcliffe as well.”

“I… I do.” Anders had to swallow and his hold tightened on his staff a bit. Justice swirled inside, seething with well-contained anger. “A pleasure to meet you. I hope you’re all well and haven’t lost your way?” He smiled faintly at the girls. One was about twelve, the other younger; possibly -- hopefully -- they haven’t spent much time in the Circle, whichever they belonged to.

“You make a bit of an odd company… May I ask where you come from? The young ladies would probably better off at somewhere secure than on the road.” It was odd indeed -- what were they doing here? Were they from Kinloch, leaving the Tower for Redcliffe? Or some farther Circle, like Oswick, or Denerim? Or was the Tranquil just herding the girls toward Kinloch, doing the templars’ job since they were obviously occupied with fighting?

“I am from Redcliffe,” the man replied. “I lived in the Circle of Ostwick, but when the mages left, they took me with them as well as several other Tranquil too. Grand Enchanter Fiona wanted us to find other mages in Ferelden and bring them to Redcliffe. That is why I am traveling with these young girls.”

The older of the two children, a small thing with a white-knuckled grip on her staff, spoke up meekly.

“We, er, we both grew up around here, ser. We’d lived in Kinloch Hold for years, both of us, but we ran away when things got bad. Er, were... getting bad. We came back together, to find our families, but… but neither of them…”

“ _Oh Maker, she’s back-- she’s back for our blood, knew it was inevitable,_ knew _she wasn’t strong enough-- bar the doors, keep the demon out, it hurts to hear her cry outside but demons always cry the loudest when it gets them what they want,_ ” Cole muttered restlessly behind Anders, likely itching to help but lingering back for now. The Tranquil former mage seemed to make him uncharacteristically nervous.

The girl bit her lip to stop its eminent quivering, eyes falling to the ground as she worked past the waver in her voice to continue. “Arley found us not long ago. We’d be on the streets, still, if he hadn’t. We don’t have anywhere else to go, ser, please-- I know he’s Tranquil, but he always listens to us and we can-- we can protect ourselves. Probably. You’re, er… you’re a mage too, so… you understand, right?”

Anders blinked to keep the tears from falling -- he understood, oh how well he did. “Don’t worry, young lady.” He didn’t kneel, but he leaned down just a little, so he’d be closer to her height. 

“My father gave me to the templars when I was about your age… I understand. I’m not going to take you from him. I know he’s taking good care of you. Tranquils are reliable. You’ll be safe at Redcliffe.” He smiled at them, then turned to the man.

‘You’ll be keeping to the road, I assume -- that’s safer. Me and my companion however need to reach Redcliffe as soon as possible -- we have some potentially urgent news, so we’ll be crossing the Hinterlands. If you happened to have any directions or news about the area, I’d be grateful.”

The girl relaxed at Anders’s assurance-- only to squeak in surprise and stumble back as Cole emerged from behind the older mage at his mention, wringing his hands absently. The Tranquil-- Arley, apparently-- seemed unphased by the sudden appearance of the companion, though Tranquil were never truly surprised, were they?

“Yes, we will continue west to the Imperial Highway. It is not far from here. If you are planning on traveling through the Hinterlands, I would recommend that you also reach the highway first before crossing northwest.”

“There’s demons in the Hinterlands,” the younger girl finally spoke up, her eyes only meeting Anders’ briefly before they fell bashfully to the ground around his feet. “They said there’s holes, like, the hole in the sky, but smaller, but the demons are coming out of them.”

“There have been reports of demonic activity in that area,” Arley confirmed. “I am no longer in danger of possession, but these young mages are. That is why we will stay on the road until we reach Redcliffe.”

“Could travel with us,” the younger girl mumbled meekly, to an exasperated sigh from the older one. Anders still had his charm, it seemed.

“Oh, I’m sure I’d be in splendid company,” Anders smiled brightly. “And, we’re indeed heading to the same direction -- for a while at least -- so I suppose we could just as well travel together for a little while. It’s safer together, and mages should look out for each other.” He reached into his pack and fished out a handful of dried apricots.

“Would you like some? To sweeten the day a little.” He glanced at the Tranquil. “If you have rested enough, we can get going, but I certainly don’t want to drive the girls too hard.”

“It is no problem,” Arley nodded primly. “We’re ready to continue our journey.”

While the trio gathered their -- notably little -- belongings, Anders turned to Cole. “I know why you’re upset,” he caressed the boy’s face. “It’s scary, isn’t it? Someone who had been cut from the Fade… He must feel almost lifeless to you.”

“ _My presence, the Fade’s presence once temporally brought a Tranquil back; I wish to try again,_ ” Justice was squirming restlessly. “ _Unless he was branded due to weakness or request, this is the same injustice the Kirkwall templars used to subdue mages with. It angers me._ ”

“I’ll ask,” Anders promised, a little uncertainly.

“Cold and cut, cauterized-- the spirits on the other side don’t see him anymore. I can only see his shape,” Cole muttered as their temporary group moved forward on the largest of the split roads. “He wants for nothing now. Mind clear like a glass of water. He shouldn’t _need_ to be helped, but… underneath, long ago, perhaps he wanted to be. It’s hard to tell.”

It was clear from the boy’s tone that it bothered him, but he could do little more than stare at the back of Arley’s head intently as if trying to read into its deepest secrets. The two girls were all too happy to accept the treats offered to them, nibbling and talking softly together with renewed energy, occasionally chancing curious glances back at their new company. Arley himself seemed content with silently walking along, dark eyes looking ever forward, had a conversation topic not presented itself.

Anders matched his steps to Arley’s. Normally, he’d have chatted with the children, having quite a bit of fondness for them but right now, he had a question for the Tranquil. One that proved to be difficult to voice; even though nothing much bothered them, it still felt rude to pry.

“Arley, I-- may I ask why did they brand you?” Anders finally mustered the will to inquire. “There could be a number of reasons and I-- I’m-- Uh.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’d like to know, for a certain reason.” He couldn’t help but remember Karl’s eyes, filled with sorrow and fear for a few fleeting minutes, before they went dull again.

“I was made Tranquil because my attempts to rally the other mages at Ostwick were becoming disruptive to the peace there.” Neither pride nor regret weighed on his voice, as level as ever. “They feared that my strong emotions would make a target for demons. So they removed them.”

“That’s horrible!” the older of the girls cut in indignantly, anger flaring up in her eyes. “Just because you wanted to take a side in the war, they just-- they just took away your feelings completely, your magic…”

“Ostwick was a Circle that wished to maintain neutrality in the conflict,” Arley offered plainly. 

“Wait-- You’re about my age, you-- have surely passed your Harrowing...” Anders’ fingers curled into a fist and Justice hissed inside. “I thought that was Meredith’s pastime alone! Chantry law forbids turning Harrowed mages Tranquil unless they’re proven blood mages!” Anger was choking him. Arley was a little like him, a bit of a rebel, one with strong opinions. And they chose the easy way to silence him.

“They could have sent you off to another Circle. Harrowed mages are anything but susceptible… at least, most of the time.” He remembered his own thoughts about the ritual, that it was useless and unnecessary. “I have… a solid opinion about the practice. I had a very good friend I spent my apprenticeship with… He was made Tranquil for the same reason. But he belonged to the Kirkwall Gallows… and back then, the Knight Commander made it a sport, to brand mages at her whim.” He stared darkly at the dirt road underneath their feet. 

“You know… Due to some special circumstances, his brand lost its effect for a few minutes. He suddenly comprehended what it really was like to be Tranquil… And he told me he wished to die.”

The statement had about the effect one would expect on the man-- that is, none at all-- but the girl looked to Anders sharply at his comment, her face troubled but curious.

“I cannot say how I would react in such a situation. I have no ability to regret what has transpired,” Arley watched the road before them still, his expression placid. “Before I was made Tranquil, I was also against its use. I do not have any feelings about it now.”

“Of course you don’t,” the girl piped up angrily again. She, at least, was certainly a rebel in the making, if her livid reaction were any indication. Her younger companion watched her outburst with wide eyes. “They _stole_ them from you! But, but you can’t even know how wrong that is, because, they did it, they did exactly that… _ugh_!”

Her gaze met Anders’s again, some of her boldness faltering as preteen shyness crept in, but she pushed through it in earnest curiosity. “You-- er, ser-- you said your friend, your Tranquil friend, got his feelings back for a few minutes. Do you… do you remember how it happened, ser? I thought, I mean, I think most people thought-- think-- that that’s impossible. To reverse the Rite. That’s what they told us.”

“I was under the same impression myself… It surprised me just as much. It had to do something with the Fade… or more specifically, spirits.” He chewed on his lower lip, then his shoulders sagged with a sigh. 

“I know the three of you are going to run in four different directions if I tell but-- He’s really upset and it makes me itch, too.” He took a deep breath. “I’m possessed by a spirit.”

The admission was met with a beat of silence that let it settle in amongst the company, the group grinding to a halt in the middle of the road. No one was approaching from either direction, thankfully. The younger girl let out a nervous laugh that cut off quite swiftly when she realized Anders was dead serious; her expression grew confused, and then fearful as she backed away slowly. Her older companion tightened the grip on her staff, searching the man’s face with hard eyes.

“You’re… you’re an abomination?” She nearly whispered the word even though they were alone on the path. “So you have a… demon inside you? In your body? Did you fail your Harrowing and that’s why, that’s why you’re so…”

So eager to join their company? So against Tranquility? So mysteriously wandering the woods as an apostate, hiding from the Templars that might subdue him? Whatever thought she might have had was never finished as she moved backwards in a protective stance in front of her young friend, her anger from moments before redirected into simmering suspicion. 

Arley reacted similarly, immediately drawing the dagger from the sheath strapped to his waist, inching closer to the girls to shield them; his free hand slipped into his pocket, most possibly grabbing some dangerous trinket. His eyes were focused, cold calculation glinting in them but no emotion. “I believe, you owe us an explanation.”

“Why does it always have to happen,” Anders questioned the sky. “I did pass my Harrowing, and it was awful, thank you. And I know they don’t teach you about the difference between demons and spirits but--” He ran a hand down his face. “Why am I even trying. They indeed don’t teach you anything aside hatred, fear and self-loathing. All you know about the Fade is that magic is there and demons. My friend is not a demon. He’s a spirit. Demons are corrupted, they represent negative things, excess. Spirits embody virtues like Faith, Compassion, Knowledge. Or in this particular case, Justice. We’ve been together for over ten years now, he protected me, helped me fight… Haven’t you heard the tales of the Rebel of Kirkwall?” He straightened, holding his head high.

“I am that man. I fought by the Champion’s side at the Gallows, I destroyed the Chantry and if anybody wants to judge me for my sins, I’m not going to run.” He held his staff close to his body, his grip high; this was the least suitable position from which one could assume a battle stance, so it was considered the least threatening.

“I’m tired of running. I’m not going to hide what I am any longer. I’m a mage, I’m not an abomination and I wish to see all of us being free, instead of being oppressed by the Chantry. I’m just as concerned about the Rifts as any of us, and I’m going to Redcliffe, to tell Grand Enchanter Fiona what theories I have.”

What a strange sight their standoff must have been-- three mages, a Tranquil and an odd boy, tense and shifting gazes amongst each other with staffs held close. It was Arley who broke the heavy silence this time, stepping forward calmly with his hand rising from his pocket, a glittering rune visible on the stone he withdrew from it. Behind Anders, the sound of Cole shifting fabric to draw his own weapons could be heard.

“You are a danger to myself and my companions, even if you do not realize it,” he said. “It is my job to escort them safely to Redcliffe. I do not think it would be wise to allow you to remain--”

“Wait!” the smaller girl squeaked, darting forward to grab the fabric of Arley’s robed arm, pulling the volatile enchantment back from its target. Arley did not fight the restraint, at least for the moment. “Please don’t fight, I don’t wanna see more fighting. _Please._ ”

“Sometimes you have to fight, Brit.” The older girl watched Anders with a hard gaze, searching his face. “I’m... tired of running, too. I’m tired of people lying, and talking, and _always_ talking, and never doing anything. I’m tired of people older than me always, _always_ thinking they know best, and really they _don’t,_ and they make mistakes too, and they hurt people, and--”

She let out a sharp breath, refocusing; clearly her frustration went beyond Anders, but he sure was a convenient target for it at the moment. “So, you’re… the mage who killed the Grand Cleric. You blew up a Chantry, but you say you’re not possessed by a demon-- by something bad.”

Doubt dripped in her voice like the barely--contain sarcasm, but with the smallest hint of hope she pushed forward. “So, okay, your _spirit_ … you said it was involved in dispelling the Rite of Tranquility. How is that possible? What did it do?”

With a sudden flicker of realization-- and perhaps embarrassment?-- she added hastily, “Can it, er, can it hear me, in you? Right now?”

Anders smiled faintly and slowly lowered his staff, to let it drop in the dust. “Talk to him.” he advised and pulled back, letting Justice take the lead. His body lit up with blue veins, eyes flaring; Justice stood calmly, holding up his hands, palms out. 

“ _I can hear you just fine, young lady,_ ” he rumbled. “ _Please do not attack me. I would loathe if any harm befell on my host, as he is a precious friend to me. I did not come to this world by my own choice, I was pushed by a spell and chose to stay to experience the mortal realm’s wonders. I do not seek to do harm, merely to aid those in need and punish who commit injustice. If you know of a way to prove that I’m not a demon, I’m eager to listen. Anders have suffered much because of my presence. It’s as if your Chantry does not recognize that the Fade is populated by creatures of various intents._ ”

At the sudden blue crackles that lit up his skin, both girls jumped back, the younger of them-- Brit, apparently-- letting out a little yelp of surprise as her grip tightened on Arley’s arm, moving to hide behind him meekly. The older girl brandished her staff tightly, raising it in defense, but her arm slowly lowered as Justice spoke. Her face wore uncertainty still, however conflicted; surely her short life in the Circle did not endear her to the thought of speaking to someone from the Fade, but at the same time she hardly seemed the type to cling too tightly to Circle teachings.

Arley watched the flickering, blue-tinted spirit speak through Anders with the same expression he had worn the whole time, the runed pebble turning around in his fingers but not yet falling-- Brit’s clinging may have played into that, of course.

“O-- Okay,” The elder girl swallowed, shifting a bit awkwardly, almost shyly, in his formal presence. “I, er… I’ve never talked to a de-- spirit before. They kind of tell us-- told us-- not to do, er, exactly that. But, I guess they told us a lot of things. But I’m not _stupid_ either, and if you try anything, I’ll… or Arley will...”

A weak threat. She glanced over at Arley, then back to Justice. “Alright. You said you’re here to… er, ‘aid those in need’? You reversed the Rite of Tranquility once, right? That’s what he said. Could you… do it again, maybe? Do you remember how… ser?”

The formality seemed unnatural for her, used in such a circumstance-- but it was progress, at least.

“I do not think that is wise, Callie,” Arley spoke up.

“Of course you don’t,” she sighed, with more sadness than frustration.

“ _You care for your companion a great deal,_ ” Justice stated, voice softening a little. “ _You are young but mature beyond your years. I want to help you._ ” He folded his arms and cocked his head to the side. 

“ _Apparently, my mere presence isn’t enough to reverse the effect, even temporally. Back then, the templars prepared an ambush, using Anders’ late friend as bait. We had to engage them in combat. Probably, me using magic was what ‘brought the Fade into this world’, as Karl put it._ ” He paused and chuckled. “ _Do they tell you in the Circle how spirit healers work? I’ve had the chance to observe Anders saving lives countless times. He spent a decade in Kirkwall, hiding in the darkness, tending to the Ferelden refugees when the Chantry turned a blind eye on their suffering, and he helped mages to escape the Gallows. An aptly named place, to house the Kirkwall Circle. But, I’m veering off course._ ” He rolled his shoulders subtly, a sign of embarrassment. 

“ _Spirit healers, while they use their own magical abilities, call a benevolent spirit to their aid from the Fade. The spirit’s energy amplifies the healing spell. As you can see, you can cohort with the Fade’s occupants without falling for temptation. Anders always had an innate connection to spirits. Possibly that’s why he offered himself so I could stay. Now I’d like to apologize in advance._ ”

Leaving no time for the party to comprehend the last bit, Justice began casting. A green glyph flared up on the ground, paralyzing Arley and the girls, and it was followed by two more spells -- however, while they were powerful ones, the effect barely registered, as they were not offensive. Nothing had to be done except calling up the Fade’s might and Justice, after letting the magic linger, finally dispelled all effect. The whole display couldn’t last longer than ten seconds, but it shifted a significant amount of energy. 

The anger flared up in Callie nearly instantaneously as she regained movement, her indignance at the surprise spell clear on her face, but before she could even think to retaliate a choked gasp from Arley made her freeze again, turning slowly to observe the man. His dark eyes were wide, staring off somewhere far away, but his previously placid expression was contorted now, some raw and powerful emotion twisting his face as if for the first time. He trembled, and both Callie and Cole lept forward to support him as he leaned forward heavily.

“Arley? _Arley_!” Her voice was panicked, her tiny form tucking under the man’s arm as Brit released it in surprise. The man didn’t respond at first, at least not directly; he blinked a few times as tears welled up in his eyes uninhibited.

“I--” His voice broke as he tried to speak, so many feelings were competing for each syllable that spilled from his mouth. “H--how? You-- you brought it back. All the songs in the world, all its magic-- I can feel it again. Oh Maker, I’d forgotten it all…”

He groaned, a hand running along his face to wipe the tears away haphazardly even as more came.

“It’s so bright,” Cole spoke from his other side, his own voice thick with emotion. The thoughts he was gleaning must have been intense indeed. “It’s... almost too much, too loud, too bright. In silence, even the smallest noises hurt to hear. I’m sorry for what they did to you. I-- I can feel the hurt now, from before-- so much fear, so much _dread_ until they cut it all away.”

“You did it,” Callie whispered in wonder, her gaze returning to Justice in awe. “ You really did it. You-- you called to other spirits, and they brought magic back to him? Across the Veil?”

“ _I do not need to rely on others,_ ” Justice claimed proudly. “ _My own might was enough to bring back people from the brink of death before. Anders have theorized about it, but we have little to work with. He thinks his friend might have been right and the key is to bring the Fade into the real world… but apparently, the mere energy of it isn’t sufficient._ ” He switched places with Anders, who was aching to reach out. He placed his hands on Arley’s shoulders. 

“Once, I have almost been made Tranquil,” he recalled, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I was so scared. And I killed my friend because he begged for it, and I did not know of a cure. I still don’t, not quite. But I promise… If I survive, if the Maker helps me to live on and gives me a chance to redeem myself… I will not let you die a Tranquil.”

Arley took a shuddering breath, nodding sadly as Anders spoke.

“So-- so this will pass, won’t it?” The resignation was creeping into his voice already, but there was still a tremoring note of desperate hope. “Even when a spirit himself calls forth the Fade to aid me, it can’t overcome this wretched seal burned into my flesh. Those Templars, those _damn_ Templars--”

He gritted his teeth, blinking away more tears as his gaze dropped to the ground before it slowly raised to look at Callie, then back to the meek little Brit who had come to stand beside her.

“You… are so brave, both of you. It might be-- it might be a long time before I can say that sincerely again, with my fullest emotions. _Never_ forget your rights as mages-- as people. _Never_ allow this fate to befall you.”

“Arley…” Callie swallowed hard, tears welling up in her own eyes now. The man turned back to Anders, a weary smile on his face.

“I almost can’t bear the thought of losing this, this precious moment. I… I can see why your friend wished for death. But I must get these girls to Redcliffe. I cannot-- _cannot_ \-- let my emotions cloud that commitment.” He took another unsteady breath, looking much like someone who was just barely keeping himself together. “Thank you. And your spirit friend as well-- thank you both for this. It hurts, but I’d forgotten what even that felt like. You must make it to Redcliffe. Tell Fiona what you know-- _all_ you know-- and maybe someday we can end this blight on our kind.”

“It’s fading,” Cole whispered sadly, his grip on the man tightening as if he were physically falling. “Colors bleeding, bleaching like a tapestry in the rain-- _too soon, so much to say, so much to feel_ \-- I--I wish I could--”

The boy’s gaze was intense, his eyes searching the man’s face desperately as if he might find an answer there, but it seemed he was simply not equipped to work this particular kind of magic.

“Tranquils do not feel, but they don’t forget, either,” Anders said softly. “Seek out Fiona about it; I won’t be able to stay long at Redcliffe. I’ll tell her what happened and maybe you’ll be able to come up with a solution on your own. There were dozens of mages at Kirkwall who got branded for the most trivial reasons -- or no reason at all. I think helping them will help me as well, to compensate for all the wrong I’ve done. You take care of the girls, and-- if I return, we can hopefully become friends.”

Brit hugged the man tightly, weeping silently and Callie grabbed his hand, pressing her lips together to not sob loudly. Arley still managed to nod to Anders with a small smile, but it faded fast, leaving him calm and closed--off again. Even his tears seemed to dry off more quickly.

“That was certainly interesting,” he said politely. “Please release me now, we should continue our journey. You managed to change my mind,” he nodded toward Anders. “You can come with us and I’ll point it out where you should turn to cross the Hinterlands.”

Brit cried out but she obediently released the arm he was clinging to; she hid her face in her hands though and kept on crying. 

Cole’s grip tightened around Arley’s shoulder, but he too released the man, expression troubled and pained. What must it have felt like, to witness the severing of someone from the Fade from both sides-- and more, to be unable to stop it? The boy looked to Anders hopelessly, but he knew well enough that the man had done all he could.

“It was a good thing that you did,” he said softly. Blue eyes blinked as if _he_ might start to cry, but no tears fell. “He’s grateful, even if he doesn’t know it now.”

The Tranquil resumed lead of the party, who carried on in grim silence save for the sniffles and hiccups of Brit trying to regain composure, and Callie trying desperately to maintain hers next to the younger girl. At the least, their emotions provided a distraction for Cole, who eventually tore himself from staring down the back of Arley’s head again to fall back and offer words of comfort to the girls. They seemed appreciative, if not slightly unnerved.

By the time they reached the wide, well-trodden trail that must have been the Imperial Highway, the tears had stopped, and some meek semblance of conversation was being murmured amongst the group. Brit clung now to Cole’s arm, the two deeply involved in a conversation about rabbits or nugs or some such scurrying creature. Relieved of her protective duties by the odd boy, Callie had made her way to Anders’s side, bombarding the man with questions about spirits and the Fade and his experiences with both. She was an intense child, quick to point out all the contradictions of his teachings with the Chantry’s, but with every counter the man provided she seemed more and more satisfied with his ideas. Perhaps, free from the fear and militant restrictions of the Circle, she might herself someday cultivate an affinity with the other side.

When they were a short way into the Highway, Arley slowed and turned to face the group, extending an arm to point across the rolling hills to the northwest.

“This is a good place to begin your journey across the Hinterlands. I traveled this way when I came down. You can use the sun to orient yourself. Continue due northeast, and you will reach Redcliffe.”

He looked then towards the girls, who both reluctantly relinquished their company with sad farewells. “We will continue along the road as planned. We may see you in Redcliffe when we arrive.”

“If I’ll be allowed to stay, I’ll wait for your arrival,” Anders nodded politely. “I should meet some other people as well. May your journey be safe and swift. Chin up, little Brit, and Callie, take good care of your companions. I’m counting on you.”

She giggled and pulled herself up straight, nodding firmly. “I will protect them, I promise! Be safe as well!”

Anders handed out some more dried fruit as a parting gift, then they parted ways. Once the little group disappeared from sight, Anders glanced at Cole, his expression gentle and sad, just like his touch as he twined his fingers with the boy’s.

“Are you alright, my star? This must have been taxing on you. I’d never have imagined that we’ll run into a Tranquil on our way.”

“I wanted to help,” he said, his hand gripping Anders’s tightly as their fingers laced. “I wanted to… pull the Fade through, like Justice did, but I couldn’t-- I couldn’t. I can hear the songs all around, but when I try to reach out, try to bring them close...”

He reached out with his free hand, which lingered in the air before dropping limply to his side. 

“They hold me, but I can’t hold them. Justice can because _you_ can, Anders-- you can make the magic move and mould, shapes from songs. Arley used to be able to.”

With a solemn expression, he looked out at the horizon where the trio had disappeared from view. 

“He felt nothing. Then, he felt too much. So many feelings, so many thoughts, not enough words to say them. It hurt to hear them all and not be able to help. It hurt to hear their echoes even when he faded away.”

Anders ducked under the hat and wrapped his arms around Cole. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I know how maddening it can be.” Oh how well he knew helplessness and despair. 

“ _It was a lesson though,_ ” Justice murmured. “ _No matter how hard you try, there will be situations when you can do nothing. They’ll be few and far between, hopefully, but you need to learn how to deal with them, little brother. You mustn't let yourself ponder too long or lose your will to help others. You can heal a great many hurts._ ”

“Justice is right,” Anders smiled. “You helped so many already, and there are still so many out there you can help. Leave Arley to me. I should be able to work this out.”

“ _I’m happy that you’ve found a way to make things right,_ ” Justice swirled slowly, radiating warmth. “ _Kirkwall was a necessary sacrifice, but the lives lost need to be balanced with lives gained. I’ve been silent about this, but due to my nature, the thorn was wedged deep in my side… I didn’t want to nag you, however. I’ve done that a lot before._ ”

Anders heaved a sigh. “You were a slave-driver! I could barely function with you screaming in my ears!” He chuckled. “But I understand. I’ve been feeling awful about it myself… I just hope I’ll get the chance to make it right. Perhaps we should see the Inquisition for ourselves, at a point.” He squeezed Cole’s shoulders. 

“So don’t worry too much; I will do this for you, because of you… You might not be possessing me, but your good influence is definitely showing. For now, we need to reach Redcliffe. Preferably in one piece.”

Cole nodded, quiet for a moment before his arms wrapped around Anders’s shoulders in return, his clear blue eyes softening as he broke into a small smile.

“Not just for me,” he said softly. “And not just because of me. It’s _you_ , Anders. You wanted to change even before. You wanted to make things right, but you didn’t know how. You needed to heal yourself before you could heal others.”

His hands lingered briefly before he pulled away, looking towards the countryside that would be their scenery for the next few days.

“Thank you for helping him. I can’t heal every hurt, but… everyone deserves a chance. I hope he gets another, someday.”


	11. Chapter 11

The sun proved to be a faithful guardian; it didn’t hide behind clouds for the next two days. Maybe it was indeed Andraste’s work, to pour some light into the hearts of the faithful in these times of trial. The Beach was still looming on the sky, its green glow shifting like an aurora. It wasn't easy to ignore but in the pleasant weather and in high spirits, it could be, for a while.

Despite of the rumors, the Hinterlands did not appear particularly hostile. The little team haven’t seen any of the demons predicted yet. The area was bursting with life. The grassy plains, soft hills and the occasional thin patches of forest were green, and alive with birdsong.

They spent the first night underneath some trees that grew close with their branches entwined, like lovers embracing each other. The second night, they took shelter by white ruins. Broken walls and arches marked the former structure, along with a knight’s statue. Justice liked the latter a great deal, especially when the moonlight fell on it.

“ _This is one of the reasons why I longed to stay in this realm,_ ” he said, running a hand down over the smooth stone. “ _Beauty that lasts for ages._ ”

Anders was dozing, lulled into a slumber by the soothing pulses of his companion’s consciousness. Justice enjoyed being in control of the body they shared, though he didn’t want to exhaust it. Anders encouraged him to claim it for a while regardless.

The third night, however, brought a chill breeze that tugged at cloaks and a light drizzle started. First, it was just a fine spray of water that was annoying but bearable. Soon enough though, the moisture gathered into drops and the temperature fell. The area was rather flat, without trees or other possible shelter but in the distance, they spotted light, probably from a farmhouse.

It seemed even spirits could not avoid the chill in the air. Cole’s arms wrapped around his ragged shirt tightly, his form trembling in the mist of a shower that dampened them both. The light ahead caught his attention quickly, bright as it was against the darkness of everything else.

“It’s warm, there,” he nodded towards the flickering beacon. “Logs on a fire, the sweet smell of smoke as it turns black like the night. You’re cold, Anders. I think we should go.”

“Any you’re shivering, my star,” Anders remarked. “Let’s go, I hope I can reason with them… in the barn or a stable, we’ll be warmer and dry. I admit, I’d love to settle down by a fire though. We’ll have to take our chances.”

This was the first time they made contact with anyone. Earlier, they passed a field’s edge and saw some people working on it but did not approach them. Anders was a little nervous but with the night descending, he planned on taking shelter in one of the buildings anyway, permission or not. It’s not that he wanted to do any harm.

He approached the main entrance and after a moment of hesitation, he knocked on the door.

Over the staccato of rain on the building’s roof, movement could be heard inside, the scraping of boots against the floor growing louder as they approached. A metal clatter punctuated the dull march before it ceased for a moment, silence returning; then, with a deep sigh from behind the door, the latch unbolted.

Anders was met first with the flood of firelight that leaked out into the darkness, and second by the rusted pitchfork that was brandished uncomfortably close to his face as the disgruntled man wielding it launched into an angry rant.

“I’ve had _enough_ of you damned mages and the damned Templars chasing you, I have! You wanna go trodding through all these demon-infested fields? Fine, it’s your death wish. But your lot _always_ come knocking like this, always so damned late at night, always putting on your most pathetic face like you aren’t asking me to risk everything I’ve built here to-- to--”

The farmer’s eyes narrowed, squinting at Anders in the dim light. Something had caught his attention enough to end his tirade- for now, at least- but the way his eyes darted over the mage’s features said that he wasn’t quite sure what it was.

“... Why do you look so familiar?” he asked finally, the pitchfork lowering a little even as his grip remained tight. “I don’t remember you coming around here before. I would’ve been even _more_ pissed.”

“I, uh.” Anders replied intelligently, his eyes still on the business end of the pitchfork, hands held up. When he finally managed to look up though, it immediately clicked.

“We met before! I remember you now. I remember almost all my patients.” He smiled at the man. “In Kirkwall, a few years ago. You were one of the refugees, and they brought you to my clinic with a bad lung infection. You could barely breathe. The Chantry never dispatched mages to aid you... “ He tilted his head to the side. “I think I can recall a rather worried young woman, too-?”

“I…” The makeshift weapon fell limply to the side, along with the man’s posture. The creases on his face smoothed over in dawning surprise. “Maker, I remember you now. What a nightmare that was-- that whole damn city was. I thought for sure I would die there, choking on my own illness. If you hadn’t…”

He breathed out at length, running a hand through his hair. His eyes looked past the pair for a moment, staring out into the darkness, likely searching for anyone following them before he quickly motioned for them to move inside.

“This is a tremendous risk for me, I hope you know,” he sighed, bolting the door behind them. “But I suppose you took a risk working as a healer outside the Chantry back in Kirkwall, you did.”

The house was small and modestly decorated, meant as a place of rest between hours of working the fields outside. A woman sat by the crackling fire, her hair pulled up in loose bun and her fingers working delicately over a simple embroidery on the blouse in her lap. As Anders and Cole entered, she looked up in surprise that quickly turned to worry.

“Duncan--”

“I know, Maria, I know.” He returned the pitchfork to the little hook on the wall it had hung from, and led the two soaked travelers over to the fire. “But he’s from Kirkwall, do you remember? The healer. You had to carry me there, I was so weak.”

“How could I forget that? I thought for certain I would lose you.” The woman met Anders’s eyes, scanning his face before nodding. “So it is you. Anders. I could never forget that name, the way the refugees said it so reverently. I had wondered what became of you.”

Anders had to swallow. “I- live, at least. And to my knowledge, nobody is following me. If you let us dry up, that’s enough, we’ll sleep in the barn and we’ll be gone in the morning. If someone comes asking about us, about any mage you have seen, do give me out. I don’t want you to take any more risks. We’re headed for Redcliffe and if someone’s chasing us, at least we’ll walk faster.” He laughed a little; it was a terrible joke, but he didn’t want to endanger good people.

“I’m glad to see you’re in a lot better health ever since,” he nodded to the man. “You have a farm, a lovely wife- You were lucky. I’m sure that this is quite an improvement after Kirkwall.”

“Maker, yes,” the man-- Duncan-- grunted, settling back down to rub his hands by the fire. “Growing up in Ferelden, you’d have never heard me say I’d _miss_ it. Lost my family’s land in the Blight, but there was a fresh start out here. Even more now, with so many running from the demons or the war or whatever this week’s catastrophe is.”

He stepped back, freeing up the crackling fire for the travelers. “I appreciate your realism. Figure no Templar would follow you for long without trying to start some shit or another. You and your… companion, we don’t have much extra room here, but you’re both welcome to the floor or the barn. Got some spare blankets, don’t we, Maria?”

“We do.” The woman folded her embroidery with care, setting it aside as she rose to open the only inside door in the small house. The sounds of a stirring child was hushed by her gentle shushing.

Anders touched the man’s arm. “Thank you. I understand that these are troubling times and that you’re protecting a family. The barn will be fine, that way you can claim that we sneaked in and stole things if someone comes knocking. Don’t worry for us.”

He settled down in front of the fire, holding his hands out so the flames could warm them. “Can you tell me more about what is going on here? Where do all the- demons come from? The Veil separating their world and ours is quite unstable, and I’d like to know how bad it is. And the war- Is it really that bad…?” He felt guilty for some reason, he wasn’t even quite sure why. This wasn’t his fault, and yet, there was a crawling urgency deep inside to take responsibility.

“ _It might be my bad influence,_ ” Justice murmured, trying to soothe his host’s worries.

Cole shuffled over quietly to stand near the fire next to Anders, arms still wrapped tight around himself. Duncan stoked the blackened logs within idly as he answered the mage.

“Heard it’s the worst near Haven-- at the crossroads. Bunch of Templars broke away from the Chantry, and the mages… well, you know their story, I’m sure. They’re at each other like mad dogs, they are, no regard for anyone else around them. I’ve chased a few of both groups off our land, no violence so far, but it’s still worrying. Trampled my damn potatoes, too.”

The farmer’s wife returned with two patchwork but serviceable blankets, passing them to the two visitors. Cole hesitated for a moment before accepting the gift with a reverent “thank you”, holding it close.

“As for the demons, I haven’t seen any myself. Had a friend over a few days back, he has land further west, and he said there’s lots of little… holes, but not holes. Like the one in the sky, yeah? And the demons are coming out of them, but they don’t seem to get too far. Like they’re connected to the hole.” He shrugged. “I don’t know a damn thing about magic, maybe that makes sense to you. He told me the Inquisition’s had some agents out scouting for them. He also told me the Herald of Andraste, the one that stopped the big one from getting bigger, he said she can seal the little ones too. A friend of a friend saw her out fighting demons, claimed she patched it up right in the air, that sort of thing. Can’t say if it’s true.”

“It has to be… somehow,” Anders mused, staring into the flames. “Thank you, that helps. I sincerely hope that you won’t see any of those monstrosities. And you have the right idea not letting people in.” He leaned his head into his hand with a painful sigh.

“I’ve never thought I’ll speak against my own kind but… Yes, the war seems to bring the worst out of everybody. There could be blood mages, abominations… This is not what I wanted.” He reached out for Cole’s hand. He needed a little support right now. Justice did what he could, too, caressing Anders’ face and breathing a ghost-kiss on his lips.

Cole’s fingers, much warmer now, circled with Anders’.

“It’s not your fault,” he murmured. “Some people always wanted to hurt others. If they didn’t have this excuse, they would have found another.”

The farmer gave an odd glance towards the display, but shrugged it off. He’d see stranger sights than two men holding hands in the coming weeks, if things continued as they had.

“Not what anyone wanted, I imagine. Except, I guess, the ones who wanted blood and chaos. And they’ll meet their just end, if the Maker is kind.” He sighed, giving the glowing charcoals one last prod before setting the stoker aside and rising. He gave Anders a clap on the shoulder as he moved past. “You changed my mind about mages, you know, with what you did. Change a few more up in Redcliffe when you get there. Maker knows they need it. I’m off to bed, it’s an early rise for me tomorrow. Don’t mind the druffalo, if you use the barn. Torey’s sweet as cream.”

“Thank you again; I promise to do my best,” Anders said with warm honesty. “Have a good night!” He watched as the farmer disappeared, followed by his wife, then took a deep breath.

“I’m fine, I’m fine… I’m not going to start blaming myself again. I merely left the wine on the table. They chose to drink it, just like I told Melle that they should. It’s just, some people get violent when drunk.”

“ _Blood magic is never forced on anyone,_ ” Justice rumbled. “ _It’s a choice. If they took the choice, they need to be ready to face the consequences._ ”

Anders pulled some food from his pack and began munching on it, nodding to his companion’s words. “I wanted freedom, not chaos, bloodshed and madness. I- don’t even want the templars to cease to exist. Blood magic is just as repulsive as being oppressed. I hope I can help Fiona to reign our own forces. Rampaging madmen make the honest mages look bad.”

“We’ll help them,” Cole assured, the dying fire flickering in his clear eyes as he watched the low flames dance. “And if they won’t stop hurting people, we’ll kill them.”

He sounded so... resolute. The boy’s grip on Anders’s free hand tightened as if to strengthen his conviction.

“A grim duty,” Anders agreed, “but some people cannot be reasoned with. And if they hurt others, they need to be put down.” He sighed. “But let’s focus on the moment. Once the fire dies, we’ll move out - in my experience, straw makes an acceptable bedding. We’ll move out early in the morning. I really don’t want to endanger these people.”

“ _I find it somewhat upsetting that not a single Red Templar have attempted to apprehend us,_ ” Justice mentioned. “ _With the damage you’ve dealt out, one would assume they’re keen on revenge. Not to mention that we could warn their foes… as we’re doing at the moment._ ”

“Confusion and chaos and crumbling stones-- they couldn’t chase at first, but your face was in their minds, burned into memory. They were angry, red like the sick song. They still are,” Cole’s words confirmed the lingering fear, though there was no way to tell how recently those feelings had been skimmed from the minds of their enemies. “But I can listen while you sleep. And I can wake you up before the sun comes out. It might be better that way.”

"Thank you," Anders nodded. "We're still in a hurry."

A hurry toward uncertainty, as there was no telling exactly what awaited them at Redcliffe - hopefully acceptance and attention instead of anger and staffs raised with destructive spells sizzling at their ends. But they have came this far, and there was no turning back. Anders was sick of that. Whatever the Heavens had planned for him, he was ready to brave it.

Once the fire died and the embers crumbled to ashes, the little team relocated to the dry barn. It was well-built; albeit the air held a faint chill, there was no draft, and the hay indeed made a decent bed. Anders curled up in it, and let himself fall asleep, knowing that not one, but two watchmen were guarding his dreams.

Cole indeed shook him awake at the break of day and they left quietly, leaving the blankets folded, with a bit of elfroot placed on top, as a thank you. The sky above them remained overcast, and the grass was damp with the night's drizzle, but it wasn't raining at least.

The atmosphere changed noticeably as they continued on through the plains and gentle hills of the Hinterlands. There was a nervous sort of energy lingering in the air, something stronger than the usual tension of a building storm. Cole was affected the most, his arms crossed around his chest defensively, and his gaze darting around as if he were hearing sounds even though the land offered nothing more than the usual noises of tiny creatures skittering in the grass and amongst the trees. More than ever before, the wearing on the Veil was apparent.

The dull and hazy outline of the sun had crawled through the grey shroud above, nearly peaking in the sky before Cole stopped suddenly, drawing in a sharp breath. Scattered woods arced around them on either side, like great walls of evergreens, but his attention focused on the sparse sprinkling of trees before them that seemed-- at first glance-- to pose little challenge in navigating further.

But it was not the trees that were the problem, it was the air that hung heavy before them. Like fabric in the wind, a ripple swept through what seemed to be thin air, but the strain in ambient magic around the pair prickled at the skin like goosebumps.

It was _wrong_.

“They’re on the other side, too close-- i-it’s pulling them and they don’t want to come, it’s going to--” Cole stepped back warily, but it was too slow-- like a taut string finally snapping, the coiled-up magic around them burst with energy, sending both men tumbling backwards. Sickly green light spilled out over the area, and a quick glance up revealed the source. Where the ripple had traveled was now a gaping hole that warped and curdled what seemed to be reality itself, straining the eyes and the mind in its alien movements.

That would prove to be the least of their concerns for the moment, however. The wave of magic that had knocked them back now coalesced into hazy shapes around them, growing more and more distinct-- and terrifying. Cole scrambled to his feet, the green light flashing off his daggers as he drew them with a concerned cry.

“There-- and there and _there_ \-- demons. Warped and wounded, sick on this side. Anders--”

"We're NOT helping them!" was the first thing that came to Anders' mind as he crawled backwards on the ground, supporting himself on his elbows. He was stunned, both from witnessing such a spectacular phenomenon, a Fade Rift opening, the magical backlash and Justice's agony. The spirit was clinging to him, pulled by the Fade itself and Anders knew that if he lost, he likely won't be able to return to the mortal world.

He was a strong spirit though and he held onto his host stubbornly. After the initial shock, Anders struggled up, retrieving his staff that fell from his grip. He watched the air tremble, the shapes twisting into alarming, familiar forms. The demons were writhing in pain and anger, and wounded demons were twice as dangerous. 

"Two Shades and a Terror demon, how splendid…” he muttered, rifling through his spells mentally. He was not made for this. It was always the hitters that dealt with demons. Cole was a rather skilled combatant, the two of them still stood at a meager chance.

"It's been nice knowing you," Anders sighed, a strange numbness settling over him.

" _We're not going down that easily!_ " Justice's snarl echoed in his head and he was flung back as the spirit took control with a fierceness Anders haven't witnessed for a while. Justice raised the staff and poured a powerful burst of his energy into a single spell.

Magic rippled around them and bounced off the rift. It didn't seem to be affected in any way, the demons on the other hand shrieked and dissolved into nothing in the matter of seconds. Relative silence settled on the area, save for the constant thrum of the torn Veil.

Justice relinquished control but Anders didn't move much. He was not qualified to deal with all this.

"I might be going into a shock," he announced uncertainly. "What just happened? I know what spell you used but- how did you know?"

" _Lucky guess,_ " Justice admitted. " _I'm not going to bore you with the details but I assumed it might help. It did. Let's be thankful for that and remember this for the future._ "

It took a moment for Cole to steady himself in the wake of what just occurred, the rapid twisting and snapping of near-raw magic likely all too strong in its effect on him. Thankfully, he was strong as well, and appeared in no danger of slipping back across the Veil just yet. He breathed out a sigh of relief, but the tension in his muscles held; even with demons no longer at their throats, they were not out of danger.

“Death like a wave, cold and clotted and then-- calm. You did help them. They didn’t want to be here,” he said finally, edging away from the rift nonetheless. “It’s so bright-- and loud. We should… we should go, before more spirits get pulled through.”

Before they could even move to part, however, another sound rang out through the trees. The rapid footsteps of heavy boots snapping twigs and branches grew noisy with intent, and then--

“It’s him! It’s _him_! It’s that _fucking mage_!”

The voice that cut through the hum of the rift was chilling and inhuman, matched only in horror by the visage that accompanied it as a heavily-armored form crashed through the undergrowth and into view. A Templar, but twisted beyond what even Therinfal had offered them previously. His plated armor bulged where peaks and jagged edges of red crystal forced their way through, his body lumbering under the weight of metal and rock and Maker knew what else underneath. He roared in anger at the sight of Anders, teeth bared like an animal as he drew his blade.

“You won’t get away this time, you rabid cur. Followed you for fucking _days_ , lead after lead, and of course we find you here, summoning even _more_ demons.”

Cole swept in from the side as the man advanced on Anders, daggers drawn high and ready to strike, but another shout from the woods heralded the sudden zip of an arrow. The target was clearly Anders, but it hit an unexpected mark on its way there. Cole cried out in pain almost in time with the sickening sound of metal tearing through flesh. He staggered and fell, the arrow already drawing blood from the shoulder it had penetrated. Another Templar moved into view, lighter in armor and corruption but sick with the same red disease, already nocking another arrow on her bow.

This was _not good_.

Anders threw himself on his knees at first instinct, cradling the wounded boy. Part of his mind was already assessing the damage, deciding on the needed intervention and readying the necessary spell.

The other -larger- part was furious.

"Took you long enough to find me... your ilk always takes too long. Mark my words, if I learn that you harmed anyone on your pursuit, I'm going back to Therinfal and I'll tear it down, stone by stone!"

The woman gave a curt laugh. "Hard to do damage when you're dead, robe. Do you have an idea how much trouble you caused us? You killed three of us on the courtyard, you blew up things- Maker, the red lyrium... it's everywhere. We have so much." Her smile gained a cruel edge. "If it weren't for the dead, I'd thank you- Now we have independent supplies of this miracle. But still, General Samson ordered you to be put down and that's what we're going to do. Drop the boy. We're taking him back with us. Lucius is eager to meet him again."

"That'd be quite enough, thank you."

The templars shot a frantic look around, searching for the source of the voice, but the owner of it was nowhere to be seen.

But not for long.

The swirling rift shuddered and heaved a sigh, exhaling mist and wisps of light. They drifted towards Anders, wrapping around him, caressing his skin and Cole's. Anders sucked in a shaky breath but he didn't move; he knew what was happening. He relaxed his muscles, calmed his breathing and tipped his head back, closing his eyes.

The mist thickened, the lights flickered. The templars tensed with alarm, the man assuming a battle stance and the woman lifting his bow to shoot but the arrow bounced off an unseen barrier several feet from Anders.

"He's summoning another demon!" the templar man bellowed and charged, much like a battering ram. He held his sword high, ready to bring it down with enormous force, powered by the burning red power coursing in his veins.

The blade came down but never reached its target. It was held up by a bare hand that belonged to a tall man, who stood in the templar's way, eyes closed. His long black hair was swaying in some otherworldly breeze.

The templar screamed and his blade trembled but against all logic, it couldn't sever the hand holding it. The man who just appeared out of thin air opened his eyes and they glowed with a pure azure flame.

"I said it was enough," he rumbled and in the next moment, the hulking beast of a man was thrown back. On impact, he broke several thinner trees.

The man turned toward the archer. He was naked but it didn't seem to bother him; neither did the arrows. He simply hit them away with a nonchalant flick of his wrist. The woman cursed and threw the bow down, drawing her sword, but the strike was once again stopped with infuriating ease.

"Just two? Frankly, I am disappointed." The man raised a brow.

"What the fuck are you?" she sneered.

"You may call me Justice."

Cole’s eyes were wide with wonder at the spectacle, even as his hand gripped around the wound where the arrow still protruded. A shiver ran across him as he leaned against Anders, trying to stand again; the magic that was being commanded all around them seemed to energize the boy as well. His gaze fell upon the bulky man who now groaned and struggled to untangle himself from the mess of branches and trunks he had been cast so unceremoniously into. Pale fingers tightened around the one dagger he still held.

The female Templar gritted her teeth in frustration, pulling back for a brief second before lunging forward again.

“You’re just-- you’re just another demon. I’ll kill you like I’ve killed a dozen others!” It might have been a daunting threat, had every slash and jab of her blade not been met with the same impossible resistance by the manifested spirit. Her attacks were growing more and more frustrated as her eyes, tinged with red, burned with livid desperation.

“I know well how futile it is to try to correct you,” Justice shrugged as the blows glanced off his bare hand or didn’t even reach him -- he was able to evade the strikes with superior reflexes and speed. “You should know before you die, though. I am a spirit who has seen much. I have seen you and for a long time, I thought you were like me, the stalwart defenders of law and order. It took a mage to open my eyes.”

She charged, fueled by red fury but Justice brushed past her, snatching the dagger from the sheath on her belt.

“And you red templars in particular have nothing noble in you.” The blade found its way into her body at the back where she had no plates covering her; the supernatural strength driving the dagger forced it through the chainmail. She fell, not immediately dead but mortally wounded, eyes wide and uncomprehending.

Justice turned his attention toward the remaining threat, now armed, though the small blade seemed laughable compared to the opponent. Still, the spirit didn’t seem worried.

“And you, mortal, consumed by that terrible sickness, driven mad by the song. Come and slay the demon. You cannot comprehend the difference.” Justice looked at the bloody dagger in his hand. “How long before you lay claim on the Fade as well and start slaughtering my kind in your blind rush to save the world from something you don’t understand?”

The man bared his teeth like a beast, whatever fear might have been in him drowned out by the anger Justice’s words provoked in him.

“You dare call this gift a _sickness_? Your kind are a fucking sickness upon this world. The Maker himself abandoned you.” He strode forward, his eyes falling but for a brief moment on his felled companion before locking again with Justice’s. “The Elder One saw what needed to be done in this world. He’s given us the power to do it. Where the Chantry failed, he will succeed. _We_ will succeed.”

His blade raised as he put his full bulk into one final charge, aiming for the bare chest of the blue-eyed spirit before him.

“Sometimes, violence is all that’s left.” Justice did not falter at the sight of the armored monster racing towards him. He raised the dagger-

-which flared up with energy, morphing into a sizable sword in the spirit’s hands. With impeccable timing, Justice side-stepped the blind charge and stabbed the templar in the back. This time, the opponent was dead before he hit the ground.

Silence settled over the area. Justice took a glance around, to make sure there were no more hostiles advancing on them -- then his knees buckled and he fell, the spirit blade dissipating as the dagger dropped to the ground from his weakened grip. It seemed to be a passing thing though, because he shook himself and struggled up after a few seconds, making his way toward his companions, weary but unscathed.

“I need some further testing on this flesh form.”

Cole had managed to stand again-- albeit leaning heavily on Anders-- and regarded the other spirit’s new form with an excited smile despite his injury.

“You… you pulled it through. Molded, melded into flesh from the Fade, a body to brandish. You filled in the form made before-- isn’t it wonderful?” He laughed happily, though winced as the movement tugged at his wound.

Justice gave him a tired smile. “I need a little time to tell that for sure. It is effective but-- confusing. There’s a lot to sort out.” He touched his forehead. “I exhausted myself. They were strong… stronger than I thought. It took a lot to finish them off. But I’m sure I’ll be fine.” He glanced at Anders and his smile faded. There was a pause for a few fleeting moments during which, several different emotions flickered through his face, then Justice drew Cole closer, shouldering the boy’s weight.

“Anders?” he questioned softly. “Are you alright? Cole needs healing.”

Anders definitely did not seem to be alright. He was pale as a sheet, his hands trembled and his eyes were wide, staring at his friends but not quite seeing them.

“I--” he looked down at his hands then back up, despair rolling off him in waves. “I can’t-- It f-feels so empty… You’re not inside me anymore how can I-- I don’t know-”

Justice pulled him close into a one-armed but passionate embrace and buried his nose among the red-gold tresses.

“You can, of course you can, I know how you feel, I feel the same! It’s terrifying and painful but I’m still here. Please pull yourself together, just for a few minutes...! You’re a healer and have been one long before we met. The spirits favor you.”

Anders looked up and Justice used the opportunity to kiss his forehead. “You can let go once we’re safe and we’ll hold you through it. But right now, someone needs your help. Call for the spirits. They will answer.”

Anders finally took a deep breath and nodded, pushing himself away from Justice slowly. He seemed a lot more focused.

“My star, this will hurt a lot.” He pulled a knife from his belt. “I need to cut the arrowhead out first, then I can heal you, and you’ll be good as new. I’ll try to be as quick as possible. You need to lie down.”

Cole’s eyes lingered on Anders for a moment before he finally nodded, allowing himself to be lowered down again. The rift still flickered and shimmered in the air, but it seemed for the moment that no more demons would be slipping through-- and with any luck, they might be able to enlist the help of more amenable residents of the other side.

“It’s empty, now… a void where a voice once was. But the voice isn’t gone, Anders, it’s right here next to you. You’re you-- you’re _only_ you now-- but you’re not alone.” His grip on the man tightened as the blade lowered, bracing against both him and Justice for the inevitable pain of the extraction.

“I know, I know…” Anders muttered as he cut the shirt open around the entry point. “But knowing it doesn’t help.” The fabric yielded to the blade and once the wound was freed, Anders took a deep breath.

“Justice, hold him down.” The spirit obeyed, placing his strong hands on Cole, to keep him from trashing too much.

The knife sunk into the pale flesh, cutting in deep, blood immediately pouring in abundance. Anders gritted his teeth and deepened the incision, probing around with the knife’s tip then grabbed the shaft and carefully began to remove it. The arrows templars used had wide tips and the shape was prone to get caught in the flesh.

It was clear that Cole was trying his hardest not to wiggle too much, likely for Anders’s sake, but the operation was not a pleasant one to undergo. His shirt darkened with the blood pouring out of the wound in seconds and his eyes screwed tight, face twisted in pain and concentration. Pale fingers dug into whatever they could, clinging tight and desperate. Tears welled up around the edges of the poor boy’s eyes as he finally let out a cry of pain, squirming under Justice’s firm grip as the jagged edges of the arrowhead were worried out of his shoulder.

It seemed an eternity later that the tip of the arrow was finally slipped out, along with the knife, leaving only a wide, wicked cut and a whimpering Cole on the ground.

“It-- i-it _hurts_ …” he moaned, a barely-covered sob behind the words.

“It’ll be over in a heartbeat,” Anders promised though not without a hint of uncertainty in his voice. He braved it though, he concentrated and called for aid, addressing the spirits swirling around instead of relying on the one resting inside him. Justice was a steady source of power; no matter what transpired, how twisted things became, his energy never failed to fuel his host’s spells.

With that power gone, Anders couldn’t help but feel helpless and weak, like a young apprentice trying to accomplish something for the first time. He pleaded for support, remembering words that never had to be said out loud, appealing to the benevolent creatures of the Fade.

He couldn’t help the gasp when they answered. The spirits lingering about brushed up against him affectionately like invisible cats, kissed his face, combed through his hair and playfully ruffled the feathers on his shoulder. “ _It’s been a while since you last called us,_ ” they whispered, “ _but we will grant your wish._ ”

The healing spell flared, filling Anders with warmth and a wave of calmness, and Cole’s abused shoulder mended underneath his palm. The flesh knit together and closed without a scar. Anders released the breath he didn’t realize holding.

“Sweet Andraste, thank you.”

Whether it was the healing itself or the spirits aiding in it, the effect on Cole was immediate. The tension in his body released and he fell limp against the two men. For a while he was quiet, likely trying to recover from the agony he was quite unaccustomed to dealing with. Before long, though, his blue eyes fluttered open again, gazing up at Anders with a grateful smile. He pushed up unsteadily, sitting up from the hard ground.

“Thank you,” he said to Anders, his hand curling around the mage’s. His gaze turned upwards, towards the Rift, and with a small laugh in his weary voice he echoed again, “And thank you, too.”

His gaze turned again to Anders, then to Justice helplessly, then back to Anders again. “I’m sorry. I-- I should have been able to help you. You’re not alright, and I want to help, but…”

“You’ll be able to help once we can sit down somewhere safe,” Anders promised. “I will require some cuddling.”

“Do not worry about us, little brother,” Justice ran a hand down over the boy’s arm. “You’ve helped a lot already. It’s like a cold - treat it or not, it will run its course all the same. We’re not alright, but we will be.” He glanced at the Rift. “We should not linger. This place is dangerous; someone with better suited abilities is apparently bound to find and fix it. Let’s go.”

“Wait-” Anders worried his teeth over his lower lip. “As much as I’m fond of the sight… You can’t run around naked. You’ll be cold and- It’ll be hard to explain if we encounter someone.”

“That’s true, but I don’t think your clothes would fit me.” Justice peered at himself critically. He was built like a warrior, definitely not like a healer.

“I don’t think you would fit in my clothes, either, Justice.” Cole glanced between the two again, looking thoughtful. Then, face alight with a sudden idea, he extended a finger to the crumpled mass of man that Justice had felled so easily.

“He was too sick and the song changed him, but his clothes don’t sing the same. And… he won’t need them anymore. He’s dead now.”

Justice placed a hand on his hip, assessing the corpse critically. Anders tapped at his chin in thought. 

“Also, what do you think will happen if we tried to toss them across the Rift?”

“Stripping a dead man and using his body for dangerous experiments doesn’t sound respectable,” Justice noted. Then, he grinned. “Let’s do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand this is all. 
> 
> I haven't spoken to my co-author since 2015 November; I sent her a couple of e-mails and got no answer. Maybe they're dead. Maybe sick. Maybe just busy, trying to juggle too many tasks and they don't have the time to write. I don't know. I'm not angry, merely sad, because this was a fantastic story, and it'll likely remain unfinished. Maybe I can manage one more chapter on my own, I don't know; I'm not making promises. I'd like to thank those who read and commented/kudo'd this story. You've made my day.


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